


Where is Thy Sting?

by wickedthoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Peggy Carter, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Peggy Carter, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jim Morita/Rebecca Barnes, M/M, Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, POV Peggy Carter, Past Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Suicide Attempt, Past Torture, Restraints, Torture, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts
Summary: Two phone calls change Peggy Carter's life.(Or, how the man Peggy loved came back to her, how the manheloved came back to him, and how they all came to love each other.)





	1. The First Call (1947)

**Author's Note:**

> For a [hydratrashmeme](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2271.html?thread=4802015#cmt4802015) prompt. I started posting there, but will be putting all new updates here.
> 
> Please read the tags. There are mentions of past rape and torture, as well as torture in the present.
> 
> Title from 1 Corinthians 15:55, KJVB.

* * *

“We found him, Agent Carter. We found Captain Rogers.”  
  
Peggy got the call in 1947, a little over two months before her twenty-sixth birthday. She couldn’t remember the rest of what the man said, but her training took hold enough for her to say the appropriate things at the appropriate times. Peggy held the hard plastic phone against her ear for several minutes after the other line went dead. She was staring out the window of her L.A. apartment, the midday February sky as bright and blue as she remembered Steve’s eyes.  
  
_Steve’s alive._  
  
She was crying. How long had she been crying? Certainly not while she was talking to the young agent of her newly-minted S.H.I.E.L.D.? She put a hand to her mouth, to stifle herself. She allowed herself a few more sobs before she replaced the phone in its cradle, straightening her hair afterward. She had an hour before Howard’s plane would take her to D.C. She had to make herself presentable. She knew the power of presentation, arguably better than most.  
  
_He’s alive._  
  
There were still tears in her eyes, but now she was smiling, too. A small smile that grew, bigger and bigger until she was laughing. Laughing and crying, and for the first time since Angie had left her in New York, she was glad she lived alone. She must look completely unhinged. She did look completely unhinged, she found when she made her way to her vanity mirror. She didn’t care in the least.  
  
_He’s alive!_  
  
*  
  
Steve had been frozen in ice, preserved by Erskine’s serum in the cockpit of the plane, looking exactly the way he had when Peggy had seen him two years before. The way he looked in her dreams. He woke up two days after they thawed him out, and Peggy had been sitting by his bed to greet him. She’d insisted, and the doctors had agreed. The smile he gave her when his eyes fluttered open melted her heart as effectively as the S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists had melted the ice.  
  
“Peggy.”  
  
He said her name as adoringly as he’d ever said it, and she wanted to kiss him. Kiss him, touch him, dance with him, make love to him, all the things they’d never gotten to do. All the things she’d thought impossible, because he’d been dead. She’d thought she’d let him go, but seeing him now, hearing him say her name again, she knew that she’d been deceiving herself.  
  
“Steve.”  
  
She was simultaneously smiling and crying again.  
  
“Ready for that dance, Peg?”  
  
She was laughing and sobbing. She was a mess, and still he looked at her like she was the most beautiful sight in the world.  
  
“I don’t know. You’re very late, aren’t you?”  
  
He was laughing and sitting up, and she was protesting that he should rest. She rose to her feet, hovering over him, hands on his shoulders, trying to push him back down. She’d probably have had better luck pushing a tank up a hill.  
  
He was warm and solid through the white fabric of his T-shirt under her hands, and her breath hitched. He was swinging his legs over the side of the bed, wearing thin cotton pants that hid nothing, and she couldn’t stop staring, and it was unbecoming. She was better than this.  
  
“I know, Peg. I’m sorry,” Steve looked up at her, eyes wide, his boyish face crumpled in a lopsided grin trying to mask his underlying confusion. “Forgive me?”  
  
Oh, _fuck_ propriety.  
  
Peggy could hear her mother shrieking in her head as she sat down on the bed next to Steve with barely an inch between them. She wished she could stop crying, but she was too happy.  
  
“Of course I forgive you, you utter twit.”  
  
He laughed, but the confusion in his eyes was spreading, shrouding his joy.  
  
“How- how long was I out for?”  
  
She told him. His eyes widened, but then he smiled again.  
  
“Not so bad,” his New York accent thickened. “We won the War, right?”  
  
“Yes,” she told him. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him exactly what that had entailed. “We did.”  
  
“Good. Guess there’s not much use for ‘Captain America’ anymore then?”  
  
“Oh, you’re not getting off that easily _Captain,”_ she swatted him lightly on the shoulder. “We’re still cleaning up the messes, both old and new, so- ”  
  
Peggy hadn’t meant to leave her hand on Steve’s shoulder, but there it was. He was staring at it, and she was staring at it, and then they were kissing. Amanda Carter’s propriety be damned.  
  
He tasted like soap and salt. Under any other circumstances that would have been revolting. Here, it was better than cake, or trifle, and she couldn’t get enough. When they parted, for the sake of air and decorum, he was surely wearing more of her red lipstick than she was. At least she’d finally stopped crying.  
  
“Peggy, I- I should have said this before, but, you know- ”  
  
He paused, gulped. He was looking in her eyes, but he was clearly terrified. Of all the threats Captain America had faced and overcome, Steve Rogers was still the most afraid of talking to women. Or at least talking to her. She’d be flattered if it weren’t so aggravating.  
  
“Yes, Steve?”  
  
She was lying to herself. It was adorable. Even after all these years, she could reduce one of the strongest men in the world to quivering jelly. It made her feel like she could do anything.  
  
“I- I love- ”  
  
So, of course, Howard Stark chose that moment to enter the room, but of all the people to catch them he was the most understanding. He grinned at them impudently, giving Steve a thumbs up while Peggy glowered at him half-heartedly. It was fine. She and Steve had plenty of time, now. The future was before them, and for once it didn’t seem as insurmountable.  
  
“I love you, too, Steve.”  
  
*  
  
The discovery of Captain America alive finally eclipsed the newspapers lurid obsession with Elizabeth Short’s murder, even in L.A. Peggy went back to California briefly, to tie up loose ends, say goodbye to the few friends she’d made and the fewer coworkers she’d liked. Then it was back to D.C. Back to Steve. He was adjusting surprisingly quickly to his new situation. In between S.H.I.E.L.D. tests, he was reading up on the way the world had changed in his absence. He was renting an apartment in Brooklyn. He was negotiating a new job with S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of the now-defunct SSR. He was meeting with Howard and Colonel Phillips regularly. And he was missing Peggy, as he told her every night on the phone for the three days she was gone.  
  
She returned just in time for Valentine’s Day. Peggy had never considered herself a romantic, and she still didn’t, but Steve definitely was, worse than Angie, and she found herself tolerating some of the maudlin aspects of the holiday for him. He bought her a card with hearts on it, and chocolates, and some flowers. He’d been gone for the end of the War and his country’s subsequent economic upswing, so he used his retroactive military salary from the previous two years to pull out all the stops, and she let him.  
  
In return, Peggy took Steve dancing at the Stork Club. He was terrible. Peggy liked to fancy herself a good teacher, but in truth she had to admit that she had no idea how to teach him to lead. She was better at taking the reins herself. He stepped on her feet numerous times, flustered, apologizing, until she took him off the floor. They had drinks, and Peggy promised they’d try again some other time.  
  
Peggy had obtained her own apartment, very close to the one she’d had before, and dangerously close to Steve’s new one. Which was how she found herself at Steve’s that night, and they performed a different kind of dance together. A dance that started in Steve’s front door as they kissed and progressed to his bedroom, ending on top of his sheets with their clothes flung every which way. He looked as alluring as he had the day he’d stepped out of Erskine’s machine, a newly muscled, glistening sex god whose inner beauty finally shone through to his exterior. Peggy had limited experience with this dance herself, and Steve had none, but they made it work much better than their attempts on the dancefloor. She had him on his back, straddling him once she’d got the condom on, taking him inside her, and he clutched her hips with desperate need. He felt so much better than any of her other partners, and the noise he made as he threw back his head and thrusted made the heat between her legs swell unbearably. Neither of them lasted long, but he made sure to wait until she had her _la petite mort_ before he groaned out his. They fell apart, lying side-by-side, panting in the cold apartment that in their passion had become a furnace.  
  
“Marry me?”  
  
Peggy was staring at the ceiling, but she turned her head to look at him. They’d left the lights on, and he was so beautiful in his post-coital rapture. So endearingly, earnestly, beautiful. She wanted to give him the world.  
  
“Yes. Of course. If you hadn’t asked, I would have.”  
  
“Which is why you’re my best gal, Peg. My best gal, and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”  
  
She congratulated herself on not crying.  
  
“Just, promise me one thing, will you?”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“No more flying planes into oceans, or anything idiotic like that.”  
  
He was laughing, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her face.  
  
“Easy. I promise.”  
  
Peggy knew that he meant it now, but she also knew the man she loved. There was a very great chance that her heart would be broken again. She didn’t care. Steve was worth it.  
  
“Good. Excellent. Let’s get married.”  
  
He reached down to pull the rubber from his flaccid cock, tossing it on the floor. He kissed her again, and she surged up to meet him.  
  
“I, uh,” he pulled away briefly, scratching sheepishly at the back of his head. “I would have got a ring, but it was a little more than I had, and I didn’t want to borrow from Howard. Give me a few weeks? I already found it, and it’s perfect, I think you’ll like it.”  
  
“Oh, Steve. I’m sure it is, but you know that doesn’t matter to me. As long as I have something to show my mother and sister in a few months, it will be fine. Oh, and you should call and ask my father. Don’t worry, he’ll know that if you’re calling I’ve already decided to marry you and he won’t fight us on that.”  
  
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the mention of her family. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them, it was just that they were judgmental and exhausting. Good in small doses.  
  
“My best gal,” Steve repeated fondly. “How’d I get so lucky?”  
  
They danced two more times that night.

*

Peggy and Steve spent the next few months in a whirlwind. He was going on missions for Phillips while she went on missions for Stark, and they only crossed paths in the field once. Peggy had liked that, though she understood why they shouldn’t plan joint missions regularly, from an emotional perspective. There was something comforting about fighting together, even if Steve was irritatingly overprotective of her. When Captain America was in front of her, blocking bullets with the shield that Peggy had gone out of her way to name the new SSR organization for, it made her feel more precious than the thin gold and diamond studded band on her left ring finger.  
  
Steve had presented it to her on her birthday. He’d been worried the ring was too small, but Peggy had reassured him that she didn’t care about that in the slightest. Which was the truth. She didn’t want a gaudy ring, getting in the way. Her mother and her little sister Mary be damned. She’d seen it in their eyes on their annual visit to America at the end of April, their judgments about the ring’s size and value, and she’d glared back at them, daring them to say something. They hadn’t. At least they’d liked Steve.  
  
While Peggy and Steve didn’t see each other in the field much, they spent plenty of downtime together over those months, in various stages of undress. Lying in bed together, they really talked for the first time in their relationship. About their hopes and dreams. About their fears. About their pasts.  
  
Steve was surprised to find out about Peggy’s first, failed engagement with Fred. He was even more surprised to hear about her relationship with Angie. Peggy had been afraid that he would think less of her for that, even as she knew she had to tell him. She had to share all of herself with him.  
  
“No, it’s not that,” he reassured her when she voiced her fears that he’d think her proclivities immoral. “It’s just, I didn’t think that you- I mean, I’d thought before about me and- but I didn’t think you were- not you, too- ”  
  
For all his stumbling, Peggy honed in on the attempted confession.  
  
“You’d thought before about you and someone? Another man?”  
  
He paused for a second.  
  
“Bucky.”  
  
Well, of course. She should have realized. Sergeant Barnes had been Steve’s best friend since he was twelve. His loss had led to Steve trying to drink himself to death in a bombed-out London pub where Peggy had found him. She’d seen the way he’d changed after that, until he’d plunged the HYDRA plane into the ice and left her to mourn him.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he twitched. He was looking at her with his chin jutted, a defiant gleam in his eyes. He didn’t want her sympathy. She removed her hand.  
  
“We never- I don’t think he would have- ” Steve shook his head. “I never told him. I never would have.”  
  
Peggy was overwhelmed with sadness for him, but she kept it to herself.  
  
“It’s difficult, to bring that up,” she commented instead, finding their shared ground. “When you don’t know how the other person will react. The world’s cruel enough about it.”  
  
“Thank you,” he told her sagely. He could be so intelligent, so well-spoken sometimes. “For trusting me.”  
  
“You as well.”  
  
They lay in silence for a long time after that, listening to the sounds of the city outside the cracked window.  
  
“I’ve let him go,” Steve told her without looking at her. “Took me a two-year ice nap to do it, but I have. I loved him, but he’s gone.”  
  
She thought about Fred, who she hadn’t really loved, and Angie, who she had and always would. She thought about her brother, dead in the War around the same age Bucky had been. It wasn’t the same, but it was a metre of common ground.  
  
“You keep them inside you,” she looked at him. He was still looking at the ceiling. “They become a part of you.”  
  
She cupped her hand over his heart and he finally looked at her. Shared experience, shared identity, and shared tragedy bringing them closer.  
  
“I love you, Peg.”  
  
“And I love you.”  
  
They went to sleep. They didn’t talk about it again for many years, but that was alright with Peggy. There were a lot of things that Steve wouldn’t talk about.  
  
*  
  
Peggy Carter was a confident, capable woman, if she said so herself, and she managed to plan a marvelous wedding in five months time, all while continuing her work for Howard. The Jarvises proved indispensable to this end, particularly Ana, and by that June everything had come together beautifully.  
  
The wedding was held in her parents’ Anglican church. Peggy had been a lapsed-Anglican since she’d been thirteen, and she was pretty sure both Amanda and Harrison Carter were less-than devout, but she knew when to pick her battles. At least Steve wouldn’t have to jump through any hoops, being raised vaguely Episcopalian by his mother. Peggy wished she could have met Sarah Rogers, that both she and Joseph could have been here for their son’s wedding. From the way Steve described his mother, she sounded like someone with whom Peggy would have gotten along. Far better than her own mother, at any rate.  
  
The church was a concession to Amanda. So was the wedding dress, a long, flowing monstrosity made of white lace and silk. Peggy bit back all her comments about how many parachutes the thing could have made. They weren’t at war, not anymore, even if it sometimes felt like it working with S.H.I.E.L.D. There was even a veil.  
  
Peggy had made these concessions so that she could carve out some demands of her own. She would be hyphenating her name, Margaret Elizabeth Carter-Rogers, but that was common enough among British aristocracy that it only elicited a raised eyebrow from her mother. The fact that there would only be one attendant for each of them, Howard for Steve and Mary for Peggy, and neither designated as best man or maid of honor, had elicited a stronger reaction. Peggy had stuck to her guns. It was for Steve more than her.  
  
“It would have been Bucky,” he’d told her. “I can’t choose between the other Commandos, or Howard, I can’t.”  
  
Howard and the rest of the Commandos had been understanding, taking Steve out for his stag party the night before the ceremony. Peggy had rolled her eyes and laughed at Mary when her little sister had asked if she was worried about Steve’s fidelity.  
  
Peggy walked down the aisle right on time, reminding herself to let her father guide her by the arm rather than rushing ahead of him. Steve was wearing a dark suit, white shirt matching the tone of her dress, and a blue tie that brought out his eyes quite fetchingly. Blue was the only color she’d chosen. She carried a bouquet of blue and white flowers whose names she’d forgotten as soon as her mother had approved of them, similar blossoms decorated the pews and altar, and Mary wore a dress of the same color as Steve and Howard’s ties.  
  
Steve’s eyes lit up when he saw her, and Peggy was gone, floating somewhere above the crowd. She barely heard the vows, but her training once again saved her enough to say “I do” at the appropriate moment. When the minister informed Steve that he could kiss Peggy, she kissed him first as Dum Dum, Gabe, Jim, Monty, and Jacques cheered from the first pew.  
  
It was a small wedding, but bigger than it would have been if the guest list hadn’t been primarily made up of her relatives and friends of her parents. Steve had even fewer friends than she did, only the Commandos, all three of the Barneses, and Howard. Phillips sat on her side, and she was touched by that, even if she would never admit it to the gruff old man. He hugged her at the reception, commenting how he _never thought he’d see the day,_ and that she _cleaned up good._  
  
On the other side of the room, Steve was catching up with George and Winifred Barnes. Peggy was glad they’d made the trip, though she suspected Howard’s hand in helping them get to England. The remaining Barnes child, twenty-three year old Rebecca, had come as well, and she was flirting shamelessly on the dance floor with all of the Commandos, making Peggy smile.  
  
“They’re the only family I really have left,” Steve had told her when he’d given her his meager list of invitees. “Not sure if they want to see me now, but- ”  
  
From the way Winifred was hugging him, crying happily, and George was clapping him on the back, Peggy deduced that they were, indeed, as delighted to see him now as she’d assured Steve they would be. She went over to them, and George kissed her cheek while Winifred told her she looked beautiful and insisted that Peggy call her _Winnie._  
  
It was as close to perfect as Peggy could have hoped. Howard gave a speech both eloquent and tasteful, and Mary’s toast wasn’t overly sentimental or critical. Rebecca caught the bouquet, brandishing it at Jim with a smirk reminiscent of her deceased older brother. Peggy and Steve danced, and cut the cake, and when the last of their drunken friends left them, they retreated to their hotel and fell into blissfully married slumber. They honeymooned for a few days in Chicago, since neither of them had been, and they had seen enough of Europe to last a lifetime.  
  
They kept Steve’s apartment. Peggy already felt like she lived there, and it was bigger than hers. They stayed there for many years, working for S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Carter and Captain America fighting HYDRA in their own ways, and falling into each other’s arms at every opportunity. It was beautiful, and it was working better than Peggy could have dreamed. They fought sometimes, but they always made up. They loved each other too much not to.  
  
Years passed; two, five, almost seven. Steve didn’t look like he’d aged a day, he still couldn’t dance in the traditional sense, and there were still things he wouldn’t talk about, but it was working. _They_ were working, and they were happy.


	2. The Second Call (1954)

* * *

“We found him, Captain Rogers. We found Sergeant Barnes.”  
  
Steve got the call late in the night, near the end of February in 1954. Peggy had answered the phone originally, and the woman on the other end had given her the basic information that was owed her as a founding Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. before requesting to speak to Captain Rogers. She called for her husband, handing him the phone while she processed the unexpected information she knew would discombobulate him far more than it was doing to her. She could hear the agent’s voice over the phone pressed to Steve’s ear. His face was drained of color, his eyes wide and his shoulders uncharacteristically hunched. Peggy sat at the kitchen table, out of earshot, staring at the bouquet of roses Steve had given her for a belated Valentine’s Day gift. Their downtime had begun on the 17th, and they were barely four days into it.  
  
She didn’t know what she was feeling. Glad, of course, that Sergeant Barnes- that _Bucky-_ was still alive and had been recovered by S.H.I.E.L.D. Certainly not jealous. She didn’t want to be jealous. She didn’t need to be jealous. She and Steve loved each other, and he loved Bucky, too, and they would make it work as they always had.  
  
She’d never had much experience with Bucky herself. He’d been handsome, infuriatingly so, and he’d known it, too. When he’d propositioned her, she’d enjoyed shutting him down, the kind of man who wasn’t used to hearing women tell him _no._ She’d only had eyes for Steve. But she knew he was a good man, because Steve knew it, and Steve’s opinion meant everything to her. She’d even had Bucky named a posthumous S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. He’d deserved it, fighting alongside Captain America, giving his life for the cause.  
  
Except, he hadn’t given his life. Bucky had survived his fall from the train and had been held as a P.O.W. by the Russian branch of HYDRA for nine years. Nine years of isolation, torture, and God only knew what else. Peggy hoped his goodness had survived, for his sake, and for Steve’s. Perhaps for her own sake as well, as she saw the determined look on Steve’s face when he hung up the phone. She knew their lives were about to change. She wanted to be happy, but she was afraid.  
  
“He’s alive, Peg,” Steve walked slowly to the table and sat down across from her. “He’s alive.”  
  
“Yes, she said as much.”  
  
“We can see him tomorrow morning, and- and I have to call George and Winnie,” Steve spoke as if to himself, gazing at some point behind her. “I have to- ”  
  
“No, I’ll do it,” she told him as she stood. She needed something to do. “You just- just let me know if you need anything from me, alright?”  
  
“I will,” he was still in a daze. “Thanks, Peg. You’re too good to me.”  
  
She tried to come up with a clever response, but failed. She put a hand on his shoulder as she went back to the telephone, and he clapped his hand over hers, finally looking directly up at her.  
  
“He’s alive,” a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Bucky’s _alive,_ Peg.”  
  
“I know,” she told him, trying to stifle her fear. “I’m so happy.”  
  
She tried to be, as she pulled away and went to call the Barneses.  
  
*  
  
The upheaval in Russia over the transfer of Crimea had allowed a S.T.R.I.K.E. team to find and infiltrate a HYDRA base in Siberia. They’d found Bucky there. Bucky, or whoever was left of him.  
  
“Sergeant, 32557038. Sergeant, 32557038.”  
  
Bucky didn’t seem to remember his own name. He was strapped to a hospital bed in the New York S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, repeating his rank and number over and over again. He’d been doing so, they were told, ever since he’d been found over thirty-six hours ago. Peggy was intrigued by his left arm. It was made of silver metal with a large Communist star emblazoned on the shoulder. The S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists had told her that it was a replacement for his real arm, either lost or purposely amputated. A fantastic piece of technology, Howard informed her with excitement. Unprecedented in its functionality. Howard and the scientists had tried to remove it, but that had caused Bucky pain so they’d stopped. There were several thick metal restraints holding it in place. The same amount as on his right arm. He’d been given a subpar HYDRA version of the serum Steve had, and it had made him superhumanly strong. One of his IV’s was steadily giving him mild sedative, to keep him weakened until he stopped fighting.  
  
“Bucky?”  
  
Peggy hovered in the doorway while Steve sat by Bucky’s bedside, as devoted as Peggy had been when Steve had been found seven years ago. He sat in silence, saying Bucky’s name every now and then when Bucky became agitated.  
  
“Sergeant, 32557038.”  
  
“Bucky?”  
  
Bucky looked at Steve then, baffled and angry, responding to his name for the first time.  
  
“Who the hell is Bucky?”  
  
Steve paled, reeling slightly back in his chair, and Peggy felt her heart break. For both of them.  
  
“You are,” she heard herself say with authority, walking forward to stand behind Steve. “You’re Sergeant James Barnes. You’re Bucky.”  
  
She put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and he leaned into her touch. Bucky was looking up at her with petulant suspicion. His hair was so long now, his face pinched, stressed and underfed, but he still looked as young as he had in that pub ten years ago.  
  
“Ya ne obmanyvayte vashikh tryukov. Kakovy moi zakazy?”  
  
Her Russian was spotty, and she knew Steve didn’t speak any.  
  
“Sergeant Barnes,” Peggy tried to meet him halfway. “Bucky. I have no orders for you. You’re home. You’re safe.”  
  
“Nyet,” he shook his head stubbornly, struggling against the restraints. “Nyet. Ne ya. Ya- Ya- ”  
  
He settled abruptly, closing his eyes as he lay his head back on the pillow.  
  
“Sergeant, 32557038.”  
  
He continued to repeat the rank and number, no matter what either of them said. Peggy squeezed Steve’s shoulder and bent down to speak low in his ear.  
  
“We should go, Steve. I think we’re making it worse.”  
  
“No,” Steve growled, obstinate. When he looked at her she saw unshed tears in his eyes. “I’m not leaving him. Not again.”  
  
Peggy knew when she was outmatched. She left Steve there, going to speak to George and Winnie in the waiting room. Rebecca wasn’t there yet, she was making her way to New York from California. They weren’t permitted to see their son yet, not even through a camera, and Peggy had to agree that, given Bucky’s mental state, it was for the best. She promised them she’d let them know as soon as there was any change and left quickly, unable to bear Mr. Barnes’s grim face nor Mrs. Barnes’s tears.  
  
*  
  
It took four days for Bucky to remember his name. Steve stayed by his side the entire time, barely eating or sleeping. Peggy hovered in and out of the room, making sure Steve was hydrated at least. The more she watched her husband at his vigil, the more she saw him interact with his traumatized best friend, the more connection she felt to the Sergeant she’d barely known in the War. She hoped more than anything that he could be rehabilitated enough to live the rest of his life as he deserved.  
  
The day after he remembered who he was, he remembered who Steve was. Steve’s joy was infectious as he beamed at her just outside of Bucky’s room. He swept her up in his arms, twirling her around, kissing her fiercely.  
  
“He knew me, Peg,” Steve laughed, wild, relieved, and kissed her again. “He knew me!”  
  
After a week, the Barneses were finally allowed to see Bucky. Peggy brought them, making Steve take a nap in her office. Bucky didn’t remember them at first, and Peggy saw how hard that hit them, especially Winnie. The longer they stayed, making awkward small talk, the more Peggy saw Bucky trying to place them, his brow furrowed in concentration, until-  
  
“Mom?”  
  
Winnie was out of her chair so fast it toppled over behind her. She clutched Bucky’s chest, sobbing into his shoulder as George and Rebecca tried to prise her off.  
  
“Mom, don’t,” Bucky was squirming, trying to bring his restrained arms up to comfort and deflect her. “Come on, Mom, I’m fine.”  
  
“James Buchanan Barnes,” Winnie’s voice remained vehement though muffled in her son’s shirt as she gave him a little shake. “Don’t you- don’t you _ever_ do that to me again!”  
  
“Rikki,” Bucky looked wide-eyed to his sister, then his father, remembering them involuntarily. “Dad, _help.”_  
  
Rebecca was laughing, as only the exemplary sibling could in the face of a mother’s loving wrath. George gently brought his arm between his wife and son, guiding Winnie up and away. Peggy felt her eyes well up and she blinked, hard.  
  
“And your _hair!”_  
  
But his mother’s mention of his hair provoked something inside Bucky. Something that made his face go blank and his fists clench. Winnie brought her hand to her mouth, as if to take back the comment, but Peggy saw it was too late. She steeled herself as she moved forward, putting a hand on Winnie’s shoulder and suggesting that they let Bucky rest. He didn’t acknowledge any of them on their way out, merely staring to the side of his bed as his family bid him goodbye.  
  
“You have to remember, he’s been through more than we can imagine,” Peggy reminded them outside the room. “More than even we know, at this point. It’s remarkable how far he’s come in such a short time.”  
  
Peggy had been told the extent of the damage that the doctors could ascertain, and she’d relayed it to Steve previously, as well as an abridged version to the Barneses as kindly as she’d been able to before she’d taken them in to see him for the first time. Aside from his left arm, Bucky was physically intact. The supersoldier serum had given him strength and stamina to rival Steve’s, as well as a degree of healing. The real damage was to his mind. HYDRA had been torturing him, experimenting with a combination of physical and mental pain to brainwash him into a living weapon for them. They hadn’t succeeded by the time Bucky had been found, but they’d been getting closer.  
  
Peggy reminded them of this, filling in the details more thoroughly this time. When she finished, Rebecca’s face was white and Winifred was sobbing against her husband, who glared at Peggy’s forthrightness in front of his wife and daughter. Peggy kept his gaze. She firmly believed that women could handle as much unfortunate news as men could, and besides, she would have felt worse lying to them.  
  
There was only one detail she omitted from the Barneses, even in her second explanation. Something she only brought up with Steve a few days later, when Bucky’s mental upheaval became more apparent. He would have periods of lucidity, followed by periods of utter confusion and agitation, often within the same hour. He’d know who he was, who Steve was, who his family were, and he’d even recognized Howard and Colonel Phillips once. He hadn’t remembered Peggy yet, but she didn’t take that personally. But the others, Bucky would remember, and then, like a switch flipping, he wouldn’t. He would scream out in Russian, repeat his rank and number, fight against anyone talking to or touching him until the sedatives in his IV were increased and he drifted off.  
  
“Steve, he might not, er- ”  
  
She bit her lip for a moment before continuing. She was out in the hallway with Steve while Bucky slept restlessly, four days after the Barneses’ first visit.  
  
“He might never be the man you knew again, Steve. You have to be prepared for that.”  
  
She knew as soon as the words left her mouth what Steve’s reaction would be. It was why she loved him. It was why she knew he’d continue to break her heart, as she watched him stubbornly hold to what he believed.  
  
“He will, Peg. He still _is._ I know it. I see it in his eyes, more and more every day.”  
  
She nodded sadly at him. She wanted to believe him.  
  
“When he gets a little better, I’m gonna take him home with us.”  
  
It wasn’t a question, or an invitation for discussion. It was almost a challenge. To her, and to anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. who might have other ideas for what to do with a recovered HYDRA asset.  
  
“Of course, Steve,” she knew when she was outmatched, and she smiled appeasingly even as a new fear gripped her. “I’ll make sure of it.”  
  
“Thanks, Peggy. What would I do without you?”  
  
Even after all these years, Steve’s adoring praise could make her heart sing.  
  
“Well, thank your lucky stars you’ll never have to find out.”  
  
Peggy kissed his cheek before she walked away to pull some strings with Phillips and Stark. It would be difficult, but she could do it. She was good at fighting authority, she’d been doing it since she was a little girl. Phillips, Stark, S.H.I.E.L.D., the US Government, they weren’t what she was afraid of. She also wasn’t afraid of any physical harm Bucky might do, to her, or to Steve, or to himself, or to someone else. Her fear wasn’t of the logistical nightmare their lives were about to become. It wasn’t even that Steve might love Bucky more than her. No, her fear was that this situation would be what broke Steve. The thing that would take her beautiful idealist and destroy him with the horror of impossibility.  
  
“You can’t be serious,” Colonel Phillips was sitting behind his desk when she found him. He raised an eyebrow at her, but not his voice. “Agent Carter, that man is- ”  
  
“A War hero,” Peggy matched his tone as she interrupted him. “One of the Howling Commandos. Not to mention Captain America’s best friend, back from the dead. I wonder what the press will have to say about that, hmm?”  
  
“You’ll be the death of me, Carter,” Phillips muttered. “And after I got you and Rogers that goddamn orchid of a toaster, too. Ingrates.”  
  
The resignation in his voice let Peggy know that she’d already won. He still made her argue with him for at least ten more minutes.

*

It was March 6th, four days before Bucky’s thirty-seventh birthday, when the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors grudgingly released Bucky into Steve and Peggy’s care. His memory was touch-and-go, but he hadn’t had a single violent episode in three days, and that was the main stipulation of his release. Peggy had already arranged everything; the transport home, the accommodations in their apartment, the schedule of weekly S.H.I.E.L.D. check-ups, and the schedule of her and Steve’s missions so that one of them would be at home with Bucky at all times. It was exhausting, but she relished the chance to do something other than hover over Steve or deliver bad news. George and Winnie had given their blessing. They’d seemed relieved that someone would be looking out for their son inside this overwhelming horror of a situation.  
  
Bucky remembered her the night before he came home with them. She’d entered his room to tell Steve everything was in place, to find them laughing about something. It warmed her heart, but she sternly admonished them to get some rest.  
  
“Yes, Agent Carter, _ma’am.”_  
  
Bucky’s arms were now only restrained during the night, so he accentuated his agreement with a salute, even as his lips curled into a teasing smile.  
  
“That’s right, Sergeant,” she beamed at him. “Remember, I still outrank you.”  
  
Steve was looking joyfully between his wife and his best friend. This could work, Peggy told herself smiling at the both. They would make it work, for as long as they needed. Even in the likely event that this became a permanent arrangement. She loved Steve too much not to make it work. She loved Steve, and Steve loved Bucky, and she was fond of Bucky, growing fonder, and she could see herself loving him, too, soon enough. Bucky would get better, and they would help him, and this _would_ work.  
  
Her newfound hope and determination took a hit the next morning when Bucky forgot who she was again. He still remembered Steve, and he trusted Steve enough to let himself be dressed in civilian clothes, including gloves to hide his metal prosthesis, and let Steve and Peggy lead him from the nondescript S.H.I.E.L.D. facility into the waiting car Howard had provided. An agent drove them home, all three of them in the back with Bucky in the middle. Steve had nearly punched the agent for suggesting Bucky be restrained on the ride over, but Peggy had smoothed it over with a hand on Steve’s shoulder and a firm refusal to the poor agent who’d only been doing his job.  
  
Bucky stayed quiet for the trip’s short duration, staring out the right side window where Steve was sitting, taking in the changed New York City landscape in the hazy light of dawn. He only looked at Peggy once, and she felt unsettled by the way he seemed to be gauging her level as a threat. She studied his face, still haunted, but fuller now than when she’d first seen him lying in that hospital bed. He was clean-shaven, his long hair hanging like curtains around his cheeks. Any mention of his hair seemed to regress his progress, so everyone had stopped bringing it up. His eyes were blue, but a different blue from Steve’s, though she couldn’t have described exactly how. In spite of everything, she realized how beautiful he was, and he held her captive with his piercing gaze. Like the pictures she’d seen of tropical oceans. That was it. His eyes were the sea while Steve’s were the sky, and for a moment she was lost in the depths of that blue, blue sea, but then Bucky blinked, looked away, and she recovered her senses.

When they arrived, and the car had left, Peggy led the way into their first-floor apartment with Bucky behind her and Steve bringing up the rear.  
  
“Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes.”  
  
She said it kindly, glancing at him as she paused to take off her coat. He smiled at her, although there was still no recognition of her in his eyes, and he startled when Steve shut the door. Peggy focused on her coat, hanging it and her hat on the coat hooks to the left of the door, beside the tall, gilded mirror her mother had given her as one of many less-than-wanted wedding gifts. Steve was unbuttoning his coat, but he stopped suddenly, looking anxiously at Bucky who made no indication that he was going to remove his coat or gloves.  
  
“Buck?”  
  
Peggy saw that Bucky was staring at himself in the mirror, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Slowly, he brought his gloved right hand to his face, cupping his cheek, as if to make certain that it was truly his own reflection he was seeing.  
  
“Bucky?”  
  
Steve repeated his name, almost pleading. Peggy watched Steve’s shoulder twitch, restraining himself from touching Bucky. It wasn’t a good idea to touch Bucky unexpectedly. He was so strong, and so volatile, and for the first time Peggy was truly afraid of _Bucky_ himself.  
  
“Steve,” she said, soft and steady. “They said moving him here might trigger an episode. Let’s just see what he does, alright?”  
  
Steve looked at her, angry and afraid in the face of his helplessness. She maintained her calm, gesturing her head towards Bucky and the mirror. They both looked back at Bucky, waiting several minutes as he stood there, unmoving, staring at himself as he held his hand to his face.  
  
“Chto eto ne ya,” he finally spoke in quiet anger. “Chto eto ne ya.”  
  
Peggy didn’t know what to say, if she should tell Bucky that, yes, it _was_ him. She could feel Steve’s frustration radiating from him. There was a Russian language primer waiting for him on their kitchen table, but it did him no good at the moment.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve tried again, still not moving though it was obviously difficult for him. “Come on, take off your coat and we’ll- ”  
  
“S kem ty razgovarivayesh'?” Bucky turned his head to Steve and spat at his feet. “Net _Bucky_ zdes’.”  
  
He turned and threw himself at the mirror with unexpected speed and ferocity. His left hand came up in a fist, and Peggy heard its mechanical whir as it smashed the mirror’s glass where his face was reflected.  
  
“Net Bucky zdes’!”  
  
He was screaming in desperation, hitting the mirror over and over until he was pounding at the wall behind it, and Peggy’s hand had long since found the gun concealed at her waist. It was a tranquilizer, but it looked enough like a real pistol that it caught both Bucky and Steve’s attention when she leveled it at Bucky. Bucky’s head snapped in her direction, and she saw a void in his eyes that shifted her passing fear of him into utter terror as he came at her, left arm raised. Her finger squeezed the trigger.  
  
“Bucky, stop!”  
  
Steve grabbed Bucky from behind, dragging him down to the floor. The dart embedded itself in the wall behind them. Bucky snarled and fought in Steve’s grip as Peggy fumbled to reload the gun.  
  
“Otpusti menya! Otpusti menya!”  
  
She raised the gun, taking aim at Bucky’s neck. It was a risk, with Steve in such close proximity, holding Bucky’s back to his chest on the ground, but she knew she was an excellent shot.  
  
“Peggy, don’t!”  
  
It was both a command and a plea, and Peggy hesitated. Against all her training and common sense, she hesitated, because it was Steve, and he was looking up at her with those wide, determined eyes, and after all these years she would still give him the world if she could. She lowered the weapon and took a step back in the narrow entryway, glass crunching under her heels.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve spoke in Bucky’s ear, audible over Bucky’s howls. “Bucky, come back. It’s me, Steve, and that’s Peggy, and you know us, and you’re _safe- ”_  
  
“Nyet! Net, ya ne!”  
  
Peggy worried about the neighbors hearing, but there was nothing to be done about it now.  
  
“Yes, you are,” Steve might not speak the language, but he inferred enough. “Yes, you do.”  
  
It took nearly thirty minutes, by Peggy’s estimation, before Bucky stopped fighting. He had stopped yelling about five minutes before that, but Steve continued to speak to him soothingly, saying his name, until Bucky responded.  
  
“Steve? What- ?”  
  
He looked wide-eyed around the hallway, at the remains of the mirror on the wall and underneath them, then at Peggy, at the gun at her side. His face twisted in mortification.  
  
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, ma’am.”  
  
He tried to sit up, but Steve wouldn’t let him go.  
  
“Steve, get off me, I’m fine. I’m fine.”  
  
Steve looked to Peggy, wary pain in his eyes, begging her to make the call he couldn’t.  
  
“You heard the man, Steve,” she was pleased that her voice didn’t shake, but she didn’t holster the tranquilizer. “Let him go.”  
  
Steve released his grip with obvious relief. Both men sat up, glass clinking as they shifted.  
  
“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky repeated, looking up at her with big eyes, before he looked down, shoulders hunching as he spoke to the floor. “I’ll- I’ll fix the mirror- ”  
  
There was no way in Hell the mirror was salvageable, and Peggy was at least glad for _that._ She’d always hated that mirror. Sorry, Mother.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been wanting to get rid of that thing for years. You’ve done me a favor, really.”  
  
“I’ll clean it up, then.”  
  
Bucky staggered to his feet. Steve rose quickly behind him, ready for anything.  
  
“Yes, well, there will be time for that once we’ve shown you around, Sergeant.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky still wouldn’t look at her.  
  
“Peggy,” she reminded him, forcing herself to take a step toward him. “Call me Peggy.”  
  
Shame and confusion danced in his eyes when he raised his face, but they were outshone by his gratitude.  
  
“Only if you call me Bucky. Not Sergeant.”  
  
Peggy saw Steve relax, and she smiled at both of them.  
  
“Deal.”  
  
She holstered the gun while the men shed their glass-covered coats. Bucky kept the glove on his left hand, though he removed the right. Neither Peggy nor Steve commented on that as they showed him through the entryway to the sitting room. Bucky studied the new room, looking at the sofa, television, radio, tables, and lamps as if they were potential threats. Thankfully, there were no mirrors in here. Bucky honed in on the pictures. Not on any of the paintings, but on the one sketch of Steve’s that Peggy had insisted three years ago on framing and hanging. It was of Peggy herself, sitting by the fireplace in charcoal miniature, absorbed in a book she was reading. A strand of her hair had fallen on her forehead in her concentration. Steve had been so pleased with it, and Peggy had been as well, with more vanity than she cared to admit. Bucky touched the glass tentatively with his right forefinger, the fingerpad blocking Peggy’s rendered face, and for a moment Peggy was afraid he could see his reflection in it. Then he turned, smiling fondly at Steve.  
  
“I think it may be your best work. Although,” he winked at Peggy and she felt blood rush to her cheeks. “That definitely has more to do with your subject than your skill.”  
  
“Easy, pal,” Steve sounded so happy it made Peggy’s heart leap. “You puttin’ the moves on my girl- on my _wife-_ while I’m standing right here?”  
  
But something clouded Bucky’s face and the brief moment passed. He turned to the framed picture on the end table underneath the sketch on the wall. A picture of the Commandos, immediately after their formation in 1944. He picked the frame up with both hands.  
  
“They told me we won,” Bucky spoke to the picture, not Steve or Peggy. “Did anyone else here kick it? Besides me, I mean?”  
  
“They’re all still around,” Steve assured him. “And what are you talking about? You made it, too, Buck.”  
  
Bucky laughed in response. A short, bitter chuckle that filled the room and made Peggy’s skin crawl with its implications. After a moment, he spoke to the picture again.  
  
“Do they know? About me?”  
  
“No,” Peggy took over when she saw Steve’s hesitation. “Your rescue was highly classified. Only a few people at S.H.I.E.L.D. and your immediate family are permitted to know right now.”  
  
Bucky grunted in response. He brought the picture directly in front of his face, breath clouding the glass, like he was trying to see a minute detail inside it. Or, Peggy thought, like he was trying to dive headfirst back inside the moment the photograph had been taken. Then, in a gesture that was defiantly purposeful, he let it fall from his hands. Both Peggy and Steve jumped when the frame’s glass shattered on the wooden floor. Bucky looked at them, jaw set, daring them to say anything about it. Neither did.  
  
“Shall we show you to your room?”  
  
Peggy asked it brightly, and Bucky looked immediately repentant.  
  
“I’ll clean that up, too,” he muttered.  
  
She wondered if this was their life now. Their own happiness dependent on the turbulent moods of this broken man. It began to gnaw in the pit of her stomach, but then she remembered that this was a stipulation of her love for Steve. It might break her heart yet, but not as much as abandoning Steve to care for Bucky alone would. She loved Steve too much to do that to him. She loved him too much to give Steve the _him or me_ ultimatum. She was afraid of how she knew such an ultimatum would end.  
  
Bucky’s room had been Steve’s studio for the previous seven years. It had been given a S.H.I.E.L.D. makeover for Bucky’s arrival. The easels, canvases, and paints had been moved into storage. The window was framed by the same thin linen curtains, but now it was made of reinforced glass and it locked from the outside. There was a small closet with a few clothes and shoes that had been bought for him. The only furniture was the reinforced bed with a plump pillow, sheets, a blanket, and built-in restraints. Nothing that could easily be made into a weapon. Also nothing that seemed homelike or comforting. Steve and Peggy had fought against that, but Peggy had already known it was a concession they’d have to make.  
  
“It’s not much.”  
  
Peggy said apologetically.  
  
“Nah, it’s perfect.”  
  
Bucky lied badly.  
  
“It’s not permanent,” Steve jumped in. “After you’ve met with the S.H.I.E.L.D. psychologists a few times, pass the evaluations- ”  
  
“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky’s voice was full of irritated self-loathing. “I get it, it’s fine. You two are idiots for even letting me in your house like this at all.”  
  
“Now, now,” Peggy teased mildly. “Is that any way to speak to a lady?”  
  
Bucky turned to her in dismay, the intent to apologize written on his features, and she hurried to assuage him.  
  
“Sergeant- _Bucky-_ I’m only having a laugh. I’ve never been much of a lady, anyway.”  
  
“Well, that’s not true,” Bucky’s lips quirked as he struggled to recover his composure. He looked from Peggy to Steve. “And all this is better than sofa cushions, right Steve?”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve chuckled. “And I won’t even make you shine my shoes.”  
  
They were both smiling fondly as something intensely personal passed between them. Peggy wanted to ask, but she decided against it. This was theirs.  
  
“You’re family now,” Peggy added instead. “This is your home, too.”  
  
“Thank you,” Bucky looked down at his feet. “Both of you.”  
  
The rest of the tour was less eventful. Kitchen, dining room, a hand waved at the door to Peggy and Steve’s bedroom, and another hand waved at the bathroom because Peggy didn’t want to expose Bucky to another mirror.

The day passed without another incident. Bucky spent most of it in the sitting room, looking at the books and playing with the television while Steve, Peggy, or both sat with him, making small talk. Later that night, after a dinner of cold sandwiches, Peggy stayed with Bucky in the sitting room while Steve took the bathroom mirror down. Peggy didn’t mind, there was still a mirror in their room. She was tasked with watching Bucky, peering over the edge of her book as she finally let him clean up the broken frame. He picked up the photograph delicately with his left hand and brought it to her. He was still wearing the glove, and his shirt sleeve, which he’d been tugging on self-consciously throughout the day, hid the rest of the metal arm. Peggy forced herself to accept the picture without a trace of fear. She found another frame for it and placed it back on the end table, as if it had never left.  
  
“There, no harm done.”  
  
“Sorry,” he repeated unnecessarily behind her.  
  
“None of that,” she turned to face him slowly. He’d left a good metre between them. “It’s as I said, no harm done.”  
  
He ducked his head in acknowledgement, then gestured with the Hoover in his right hand.  
  
“I remember when Dad finally saved up enough to get Mom one of these. That would’ve been right before I left for basic training. She was so excited about it. ”  
  
“Yes,” Peggy encouraged. “They are quite efficient tools.”  
  
“He coulda bought a cheaper one,” Bucky was looking at her, but she could tell he wasn’t really talking to her. His eyes were unfocused, he was somewhere far away. “I told him, ‘Just get one for twenty-five bucks,’ but no. Nothing but the best for Mom.”  
  
She made a noise of interest that he didn’t acknowledge. The doctors had said this might happen, and that it was important to let Bucky talk if he wanted to, so she did. Down the hall she could hear Steve taking down the mirror, and she hoped Bucky wouldn’t get upset while he was gone. She felt selfish about that, but there it was. It tore Steve apart to see Bucky like this, but Peggy felt safer when Steve was there.  
  
“They made us pay twenty-five bucks for all our stuff at basic. Right when we got off the bus. They shaved our heads, stripped us naked, took all our old clothes and shit, and handed us the new ones. And they made us pay for it.”  
  
He laughed that same, bitter laugh, and Peggy could hear his despair.  
  
“It’s fine, ma’am,” Bucky looked at her, and saw her again. “I’m not bent about it or anything. It was necessary. We had to. We were gonna save the world. And I guess we did.”  
  
His voice hardened on the last word. Peggy set her shoulders, trying to think of him as her guest, her friend, her family, and not a danger with which she had to contend, even if she probably should. She forced her hand to stay at her thigh, and not drift to the gun hidden at her waist. He’d been trained as a soldier, and HYDRA had taken that to new extremes, and bringing a weapon into play would set him off even more.  
  
“Sergeant, 32557038,” his eyes blanked and her heart clenched. “Sergeant, 32557038.”  
  
“Bucky?”  
  
He suddenly looked terrified. Of her, Peggy marveled. He looked more afraid of her than she was of him.  
  
“Not again,” his voice quavered. “Not again, please, ma’am.”  
  
“Bucky.”  
  
She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted to shout for Steve, but she shouldn’t shout. She shouldn’t startle him.  
  
“I can- ” Bucky was taller than she was, but he seemed to shrink before her. “I can make you feel _good,_ ma’am. Please. Ya byl so mnogimi zhenshchinami. Ya sdelayu eto khorosho dlya vas.”  
  
“Bucky!”  
  
Peggy didn’t yell, but she said it more forcefully than she’d intended, her face glowing and her heart racing with his desperate propositions. Bucky startled, his eyes blanked again, then narrowed in suspicion.  
  
“Yeah? Who’re you?”  
  
_Steve, please hurry._  
  
“Peggy, remember? Peggy Carter-Rogers?”  
  
Recognition dawned and she felt nearly dizzy with relief.  
  
“Peggy,” Bucky shook his head. “Peggy, right, yeah, I’m sorry. I just, uh, got lost for a minute.”  
  
He gestured to his head, moving his fingers erratically around his temple, and Peggy nodded in understanding.  
  
“It’s alright, Bucky.”  
  
“I’m gonna,” he gestured with the vacuum again. “Uh, I’m gonna go clean up the mirror.”  
  
He took a minute to orient himself before striding purposefully in the direction of the entryway. She was so shaken by what had just occurred that it took her several seconds to follow him through the door. Bucky stiffened when he heard her enter behind him, and she stiffened in turn. He looked over his shoulder at her with an embarrassed little smile.  
  
“Do you- do you have to watch me all the time?”  
  
The resigned tone of his voice told her that he already knew the answer.  
  
“Yes,” she tried to be kind. “Either Steve or myself.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I know.”  
  
The glass clinked as he put the vacuum down.  
  
“I don’t know which is worse. Having him see me like this, or you.”  
  
She didn’t have a response, and Steve chose that moment to enter the hallway.  
  
“It’s done, Peg. Didn’t damage the wall at all, either,” Steve stopped, reading the atmosphere. “Everything good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky answered for them both. “Five-by-five.”  
  
“I need a drink,” Peggy told Steve, her voice fainter than she’d like. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”  
  
She hadn’t had a drink with their poor excuse for dinner. She’d wanted to keep her head clear, her reflexes sharp. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a shot glass full of the first bottle she grabbed, which turned out to be gin. She had two, then went into the master bedroom. She opened the window, frigid air pouring in, but she didn’t care. She lit up a cigarette, blowing smoke rings out into the night until she let the butt fall to the ground below. Her heart had slowed, but her thoughts refused to follow suit. She didn’t want to think.  
  
“Peggy?”  
  
She whirled to find Steve standing in their doorway.  
  
“You’ll catch your death- ” Steve came to her side and closed the window.  
  
“You sound like my mother.”  
  
“Peg, what’s wrong?” Steve caught her by both shoulders, gently turning her to face him. “Did- did Bucky say or- or _do_ something?”  
  
Peggy had the overwhelming urge to tell him that she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with this every day, every night, for God-knew how long. The rest of their lives? She couldn’t. She _couldn’t-_  
  
Steve was looking at her with such concern, anguish on his face at the thought of Bucky doing something to upset her.  
  
_And why, Steve? Is that concern for me, or concern for him?_  
  
_**Both.**_  
  
Yes, she knew that. Life was more complicated than some Ingrid Bergman movie, and she’d never wanted to be the princess in a fairy story.  
  
“We have to talk to each other,” Steve continued when she didn’t answer. “If this is gonna work, we can’t pull away from each other.”  
  
“You’re right. Of course. And, yes, Bucky, he- he did say some things, but nothing worse than this morning,” Peggy gulped, plunging ahead to the truth. “He forgot who he was, and who I was, and then he offered me- sex, in return for not being tortured. But he didn’t get violent.”  
  
Steve’s eyes widened in horror, even as he nodded with relief.  
  
“I, uh, put him to bed. No problems. He even helped me strap him in, even though you could see the way it was killing him. He still won’t take off that glove, and I didn’t want to say anything about it.”  
  
Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, and Peggy wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him.  
  
“How are _you,_ Steve?”  
  
“Tired. Exhausted. This is hard, Peg. I mean, I knew it wasn’t gonna be easy, but- ”  
  
Peggy reached up and stroked his hair. She glanced at the clock, surprised to see how late it was.  
  
“Come to bed with me?”  
  
“I want to,” Steve did look tempted. “I really do, Peg, but I want- I wanted to make some progress in that Russian primer.”  
  
That was understandable, Peggy told herself, smiling at Steve and kissing him goodnight. She also didn’t want to be alone in knowing the heart-crushing things Bucky was saying. Steve closed the door behind him, and Peggy drew the curtains and changed into her nightgown. She turned off the lights, climbed under the bedclothes alone, and fell asleep quickly.  
  
Steve still wasn’t beside her when she jolted awake two hours later to hear Bucky screaming out his rank and number, over and over again, with a few cries of _"_ _Ostanovit'!"_ and _"_ _Pozhaluysta!"_ interspersed throughout. As she threw a housecoat around her, grabbed the tranquilizer, and sprinted from the room, she once more pitied their neighbors.


	3. Changes in the Interim

* * *

It turned out that Peggy’s concern for the neighbors was unfounded. Every other unit had been rented out to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents years ago, starting when Steve had first moved in.  
  
“Did you really think we’d let Mr. and Mrs. Captain America live surrounded by strangers? Come on, Carter, get your head on straight.”  
  
She was in Phillip’s office the afternoon after Bucky’s first day out of the facility. She’d volunteered to go back and give a report on Bucky’s adjustment. She’d been glad to get out of the apartment. Her home for the past six-and-a-half years was starting to feel unfamiliar to her. She’d looked above the bathroom sink, expecting to see her reflection, but seeing only a bare wall. That hole in the front hall that Steve and Bucky had been patching as she’d left them. Her home was becoming a place of fear.  
  
And, yes, Peggy supposed it made sense that their neighbors were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and she was annoyed with herself for not thinking of it sooner. The married couple above them, Davit and Milena Gasparyan, were a bit younger than Steve and herself, fit looking, and she could see them as agents. But old Mrs. Cohn across the hall couldn’t be a day younger than eighty. Steve often helped Mrs. Cohn with her groceries or household projects, and Peggy had had her over for a few boring teas. Now that Peggy knew, she had some questions for the older woman who’d presumably been a spy longer than Peggy had been alive. She had questions for all of their neighbors.  
  
Oh, and what would she tell Steve? How would he react to this newest violation of trust from the organization she’d helped found?  
  
Peggy gave Phillips the rest of her report. He watched her appraisingly throughout, gave his gruff approval of progress, then dismissed her. She knew he’d been humoring her need to get out of the apartment, he could just as easily have sent an agent to check in on them and gotten a report then. She was grateful for the prickly old man, for his respect and friendship, even if he didn’t always communicate it in the best ways.  
  
“Agent Carter! Hey, Peggy!”  
  
She turned in the hall outside Phillip’s office to find Howard Stark walking quickly towards her, his hand raised in greeting.  
  
“Howard,” she smiled. “How are you?”  
  
“No complaints. How’re you? You know, with the whole Sergeant Barnes thing? How’s he doing?”  
  
Howard didn’t bother to hide his eagerness for information.  
  
“He’s- he’s adjusting,” Peggy answered carefully. “It’s been touch-and-go, but nothing horrible.”  
  
Besides his episode in the night- which had ended once Peggy, and Steve, dashing in only a few seconds behind her, had woken him from his nightmare- Bucky had been doing well. Peggy had used her limited culinary skills to make them all breakfast, which both men had generously deemed _delicious,_ and then Steve had gotten back to work on his primer while Bucky had continued making his way through the stack of books he’d pulled from their shelves. She’d seen Steinbeck, Bradbury, Asimov, Salinger, Jackson, and Baldwin in there. He’d been halfway through _Go Tell It on the Mountain,_ which Peggy had been meaning to read for months but still hadn’t gotten to it, when Steve had suggested they patch up the wall in the front hall. Peggy suspected that Steve had been frustrated with his progress in learning Russian and had needed a distraction.  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Howard went on, pressing when Peggy offered nothing further. “How ‘bout that arm of his? That working okay?”  
  
Bucky had continued to sheath his arm in the glove and sleeves. He seemed embarrassed by it, maybe even afraid. Or maybe he was seeing Peggy’s fear of it, and of him, despite her best efforts to hide it. She wanted to explain to Bucky that it was more complicated than he probably imagined, but he was still a relative stranger to her and she didn’t know how to bring it up with him. She supposed she could ask Steve to talk to him for her, but she didn’t want to make Steve the middleman in their odd, new relationship. She didn’t want to make that a habit.  
  
“Yes,” Peggy answered Howard. “We’ll let you know if it malfunctions or needs maintenance.”  
  
“Good, good.”  
  
After she left the facility, she had her driver take her to George and Winnie’s apartment. They’d moved closer to Steve and Peggy soon after the wedding, only ten blocks away, so Peggy dismissed the agent once they arrived. She wanted to walk home. It would give her time to clear her head and prepare herself.  
  
“Peggy,” Winnie opened the door and greeted her with a hug. “What a nice surprise! Come in, come in.”  
  
The Barneses’ apartment was medium-sized, but so cluttered with furniture and knick-knacks that it seemed much smaller. It comforted Peggy as she stepped over the threshold. It felt like a home. She felt a pang of guilt for how long it had been since she’d last visited. Could it really be over a year?  
  
“I’m afraid George is out, but here, sit down, sit down, I’ll make some tea.”  
  
After she’d removed her coat and hat, Winnie directed Peggy to the kitchen table, where they’d had many talks before. Peggy politely offered to help, which Winnie politely declined, so Peggy sat and watched the plump older woman bustle around the kitchen.  
  
“I wanted to stop by and see how you were.”  
  
Peggy waited until Winnie had placed two cups of steaming tea and a plate of chocolate-dipped biscuits on the table, then sat across from her. Winnie looked at her shrewdly, with those sea-blue eyes both her children had inherited.  
  
“Sad,” she answered, with the relief of a brutal honesty she’d clearly been holding back until this moment. “And afraid.”  
  
_Me too,_ Peggy wanted to say, but didn’t. She reached across the small table and squeezed Winnie’s hand in hers.  
  
“How is he?”  
  
Peggy chose her words carefully. She wanted to be honest, without being unnecessarily cruel in her honesty. It was a delicate balance.  
  
“There have been some incidents, but nothing unexpected or unmanageable. He’s finding his way.”  
  
Winnie nodded in understanding, a sad smile on her face as her eyes turned glassy with tears. Peggy grasped for some detail to encourage her.  
  
“He has been catching up on all the history he’s missed, and now he’s starting on the novels that were published in the last few years. He’s quite the reader.”  
  
“He always was,” Winnie said proudly. “Even as a boy. He was always good at everything he set his mind to. School, baseball, boxing. My little high achiever. Rikki’s the same way, but Bucky’s interests were always broader.”  
  
Peggy wondered about those nicknames. If Winnie had been the one to bestow them on her children.  
  
“Which is why he’ll be fine,” Peggy said with more confidence than she felt. “He wants to get better.”  
  
She gave Winnie’s hand one last squeeze and brought her hand to lift her cup, sipping it. She wasn’t hungry, but she nibbled on one of the biscuits Winnie had provided. Winnie had gone out of her way to be accommodating, it was the least Peggy could do to humor her.  
  
“Thank you,” Winnie sniffed delicately, struggling not to cry. “George won’t talk about this, and I had to sign that document swearing me to secrecy, so I can’t tell anyone else.”  
  
“I know,” Peggy hated that secrecy was necessary here. “I’m so sorry, Winnie.”  
  
“And,” the tears began to pour from Winnie’s eyes. “Then Rikki went back to San Francisco, so I can’t talk to her either.”  
  
Rebecca had moved to San Francisco five years earlier to pursue her relationship with Jim Morita, once the California Supreme Court had struck down the shameful anti-miscegenation law that still plagued the rest of America. They’d been engaged for almost a year, but no wedding in sight. Peggy supposed it would have to be put off a while longer, if Rebecca wanted her brother involved. Bucky wasn’t permitted to leave the apartment yet, let alone New York, and he wouldn’t be able to see his family again until he passed a psychological evaluation.  
  
“And it’s his birthday in three days, can I- can you do something so I can see him?”  
  
Peggy steeled herself, shaking her head.  
  
“I’m sorry, no. We could possibly arrange a phone call, and if you want to bake him something or give him a present, we could arrange that as well.”  
  
Winnie buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Peggy’s heart broke, even as she wanted to flee from the scene. She took another sip of tea instead. It had gone unpleasantly tepid.  
  
“I thought he was dead,” Winnie’s voice was muffled in her hands. “They told me he was dead, and now he’s not, but he might as well be because I can’t even see him.”  
  
“I can’t even imagine.”  
  
“I hate this. I hate _them._ They took my son from me!”  
  
She screamed the last part savagely, looking up at Peggy, and Peggy wasn’t sure to what Winnie’s _they_ referred. HYDRA, S.H.I.E.L.D., the U.S. Army? All of the above?  
  
“No,” Peggy said, kindly but firmly. “Bucky’s not gone. He’s here, and he’s still fighting, and I will do everything in my power to let you see him as soon as possible.”  
  
Winnie’s anger deflated, and she nodded through her tears. Peggy handed her a handkerchief and waited while Winnie composed herself.  
  
“Thank you,” Winnie gulped. “Thank you for stopping by. Thank you for doing all you can. I’m just- I’m so lost, Peggy. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I _can_ do anything. I think- I think I need to lie down.”  
  
Peggy heard the courteous dismissal in Winnie’s voice. She stood and Winnie did as well. They hugged, and Winnie showed Peggy out.  
  
“I’ll set something up for the 10th,” Peggy promised. “And either Steve or myself can visit you soon, if you’d like.”  
  
“Yes, I really would like that,” Winnie’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Give my best to Steve, will you? And- and please tell my son I love him.”  
  
“I will.”

Peggy’s walk to the apartment went far more swiftly than she would have liked. She turned the key in the lock, her heart in her throat anticipating what she might find on the other side of her front door-  
  
The wall in the entryway was fixed beautifully, not a trace of plaster or paint where it shouldn’t be. Peggy made her way to the sitting room, where she found Steve sitting in an armchair, watching morosely as Bucky sat stiffly on the sofa, staring straight ahead and muttering to himself in a flat voice. Steve looked up at Peggy’s entrance. Bucky remained oblivious.  
  
“James Barnes. Sergeant. 32557038. March 10, 1917. James Barnes. Sergeant. 32557038. March 10, 1917- ”  
  
At least he was remembering more about himself, Peggy thought as she carefully made her way to Steve’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. Steve didn’t look at her when he spoke.  
  
“He just- he just started talking,” Steve’s voice was hollow. “We were putting the paint cans away and- and he told me how they would, uh, hang buckets from his- his privates and slowly fill them with water until he told them what they wanted- ”  
  
Steve shuddered, and Peggy squeezed his shoulder. She thought about what she’d promised Winnie. About all the grisly details Bucky might reveal to his mother about his ordeal without meaning to.  
  
“It wasn’t even _what_ he was saying, Peg. It was _how_ he said it. Like he was telling me about the weather, or the outcome of a game he didn’t really care about. Like it meant _nothing.”_  
  
Steve went silent for a long minute as Bucky continued to repeat his information. Peggy waited, hoping her hand was comforting her husband.  
  
“And then he, uh,” Steve took a deep breath. “He just- just out of nowhere he says- he said the men liked his hair long like that, because they could pretend- when they looked at him from behind when they were-”  
  
He stopped, his mouth snapping shut. Peggy watched his lips part again slowly, as if he was afraid of what might slip out.  
  
“He must’ve seen the look on my face, ‘cause then he just shut down. Wouldn’t respond to me. Came in here, sat down, stared at the wall for a few hours. Then he started up with that P.O.W. information, and then you came home- ”  
  
“Bol'she ne nado,” Bucky interjected suddenly, looking up with utter terror at someone who wasn’t there. “Ya budu delat' vse, chto vy khotite, no Ya prosit', pozhaluysta bol’she ne nado.”  
  
“Sometimes,” Steve admitted quietly, ashamed, once Bucky had stopped talking. “I’m not sure if I really want to know what he’s saying.”  
  
“That’s completely understandable, Steve. In this instance, I can tell you he didn’t say anything terribly different from anything he’s said before.”  
  
Steve looked at her for the first time in this encounter. There was such defeat in his eyes, like Peggy had never seen in her Captain before.  
  
“No, I gotta know. What’d he say?”  
  
“He’s asking for ‘no more,’” Peggy translated sadly. “He says he’ll do anything they want, but please no more.”  
  
“Fuck. Fuck!”  
  
Steve so rarely swore with such vulgarity in front of her. Peggy didn’t mind, she’d said far worse, but it still caught her off guard to hear it from Steve.  
  
“They told me everyone at that HYDRA base died in the raid,” Steve looked away from her, back to where Bucky sat curled in on himself, silent and trembling. “I wish they hadn’t.”  
  
Steve’s unspoken threat hovered in the air, darkness and despair on its wings, and Peggy suppressed her shiver. She couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so all three of them remained there in silence for almost an hour until Bucky came back to himself. He was mortified, and belligerent about it.  
  
“I wanna go to bed,” Bucky rose to his feet, glowering. “One of you gonna come strap me in?”  
  
Peggy glanced at the clock. Barely six-thirty.  
  
“Are you sure, Buck? You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”  
  
“Not hungry.”  
  
“But- ”  
  
Against every shred of instinct, Peggy moved toward Bucky, placing herself between him and Steve, even turning her head from Bucky briefly to address her husband.  
  
“He knows what he wants, Steve,” she said gently. “Let him go to bed if he’s tired. I’ll help him get settled.”  
  
Steve nodded with wounded pride, and Peggy walked with Bucky to his room.  
  
“Thank you,” Bucky muttered once he was lying in the bed, waiting for Peggy to tie him down. He’d refused to put on pajamas. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Peggy strapped in his covered left arm first. “We know that.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you saying that kind of makes it worse.”  
  
The last of the three metal cuffs fastened on his left arm, and Peggy moved around the bed to start on his right.  
  
“Why?”  
  
_Click._  
  
“Because.”  
  
_Click._  
  
“That’s not really an answer, is it?”  
  
_Click._  
  
Bucky didn’t respond at first. Peggy moved down to his right leg, keeping her touch light when she maneuvered the restraint around his upper thigh, clad in dark grey wool. The leg cuffs were made of padded leather instead of metal. She buckled the first restraint. Then the one around his right calf. His legs were massive under her tiny hands, rippling with hard muscle, and she chided herself for where her mind was drifting-  
  
“Because,” Bucky spoke again with bitter weariness. “Because I- ”  
  
He was shaking. She stopped herself from moving to his left leg, looking at him instead. He looked as defeated as Steve had.  
  
“It is my fault, what I did for them. I broke so damn fast. I said anything, did anything, just to make the pain stop. And then the pain _didn’t_ stop, but I’d already proven what I really was.”  
  
“Bucky,” she began sympathetically, but he turned his head away.  
  
“Don’t, Peggy. You don’t know what I did. If you did, you wouldn’t be so nice. And you’d be right.”  
  
“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded, trying to meet him halfway. “But don’t be so sure. I may not know you very well, but Steve does. Steve would do anything for you, and I would do anything for Steve, so, ipso facto.”  
  
Bucky laughed harshly.  
  
“I can barely look Steve in the eye anymore. If he knew- if he knew everything, God, I couldn’t- ”  
  
He trailed off, looking at her with a silent, frenzied plea for which she had no response. She was afraid he’d go off again, and that it would be her fault. She moved to his final set of restraints, her hands trembling as violently as his body.  
  
“There was one woman there,” Bucky’s voice grew faint with detachment. “Only one. She had soft red hair, and eyes like yours. That warm brown, like one of those chocolate caramels. The real pricy kind, that melt in your mouth.”  
  
He’d stopped shaking, but Peggy could tell that she was losing him, and she desperately tried to bring him back.  
  
“Is that what you want for your birthday?”  
  
“My what?”  
  
Emotion surged into his voice, confused suspicion at her non-sequitur, and his limbs twitched against the restraints. She hurriedly finished with the last buckle.  
  
“Your birthday,” she said brightly, straightening up. “It’s on Wednesday.”  
  
Bucky settled, comprehension dawning.  
  
“Oh, yeah. I think I knew that already. Or maybe Steve mentioned it.”  
  
“We should celebrate.”  
  
He grunted dismissively.  
  
“I saw your mother today. She asked me to tell you she loves you.”  
  
His eyes widened at the mention of his mother, and he seemed so young. Far younger than his years.  
  
“You can call her on your birthday, at least. We could set that up.”  
  
He looked both apprehensive and wistful at the prospect, the conflicting emotions twisting his mouth.  
  
“Yeah,” he said at last. “If- if you would.”  
  
“Consider it done.”  
  
And it _would_ be done. She thought about all the safeguards that would have to be put in place. An agent on both ends of the phone, and even then there’d be no way to stop Bucky from having an episode and saying something that would hurt his mother far more than any cut or blow. If it went well, however, she’d be able to cite a precedent for future phone calls.  
  
“Thanks,” he looked at her with admiration. Like Steve sometimes looked at her, when she was being particularly formidable. “Steve’s a lucky guy.”  
  
“Yes, he is,” Peggy agreed and Bucky smiled. It was small and tired, but it was a smile.  
  
“Chocolate caramels would be nice, but you know what I really want?”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Some Lucky Strikes. Steve loves his Camels, but they’re not the same, and I haven’t had a Lucky Strike in almost ten years. What do you smoke?”  
  
“Pall Malls.”  
  
“Aw, shame.”  
  
She laughed.  
  
“Goodnight, Bucky. I’ll see what I can do about those cigarettes.”  
  
He thanked her, and Peggy turned off the lights on her way out, the tasks of tomorrow already piling up though she had yet to get through today.

Steve was sitting in the armchair where she’d left him. Peggy sat in the chair’s mate, across from him. She didn’t know where to begin, but Steve thankfully took the initiative.  
  
“He settled?”  
  
“Yes,” she thought for a moment about what exactly to tell him. “He remembered it’s his birthday on Wednesday. Oh, and I payed Winnie a visit before I came home today, and I’m going to arrange a phone call for them. She gives you her best.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Steve’s voice remained flat and tired. Peggy grasped for more details she could safely share without upsetting Steve, or betraying Bucky’s trust.  
  
“He remembered a woman at the HYDRA base. He said she was the only woman there, although I’m not sure whether she was HYDRA or a fellow prisoner.”  
  
Steve made a noise of half-hearted interest.  
  
“He also doesn’t think much of your cigarettes.”  
  
Not even a smile. If anything, Steve’s face fell further, and Peggy’s heart sank.  
  
“It’s my fault, Peg.”  
  
It was so sudden that Peggy couldn’t immediately think of a response. She’d known Steve felt that way. He’d felt that way since the beginning of 1945, when Bucky had fallen to his presumed death, despite Peggy’s attempts to dissuade him.  
  
“I left him there. I let him fall, and then I left him for HYDRA to find.”  
  
“There was nothing you could have done,” Peggy found her voice. “And you did look for him, after. There was no way you could have found him, not with how fast that train was moving when he fell. There was too much terrain to cover.”  
  
“Excuses.”  
  
Peggy was _angry._ If she couldn’t wallow in regret or self-pity about her situation, why should Steve get to?  
  
“Steve. I told you then, and I’ll tell you now. Bucky chose to follow you. He chose, and you should respect that. Blaming yourself does a disservice to you both.”  
  
Steve’s dejection shifted to anger as well.  
  
“Really, Peg? Did he choose all this? Did he choose to be experimented on? Did he choose to be tortured, and- and- ?”  
  
“That’s not what I said,” she glared icily. “It’s more complicated than that, of course it is. But HYDRA spent the better part of a decade attempting to rip all choice away from Bucky, and you discredit him by doing the same.”  
  
He stood, and so did she, her heart racing even though she knew he was no threat to her physically. Steve Rogers would never lay a hand on her in anger, of that she was absolutely certain.  
  
“How can you accuse me of that?”  
  
Peggy felt her fatigue truly catch up with her for the first time in weeks. For the first time since the second phone call that had changed her life. She held her ground, but she felt the cracks in her mental resolve weakening. Tears pricked her eyes. She was tired of being everyone else’s shoulder to cry on. Winnie’s, Bucky’s, Steve’s. She needed someone to hear _her._  
  
“I’m not accusing you of anything, Steve,” a tear slipped down her cheek. “Not one damn thing. I just need you to accept that your self-blame is neither factual nor helpful in this situation. Can you do that for me?”  
  
More tears poured from her eyes, and her chest heaved with her futile attempts to restrain them. She could tell that Steve saw them, by the way his cold fury was melting.  
  
“Peggy,” Steve had tenderness in his voice and she clung to it. “Peg, please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I don’t need or want you to apologize,” Peggy closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “I just need you to stay strong with me. Please, Steve. We have to get through this, for him and for us.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
She opened her eyes to find him in front of her, his arms open in tantalizing comfort. She didn’t offer any resistance. She fell into his arms, clinging to his solid warmth as she wept into his shoulder.  
  
“This could destroy us,” everything she’d been repressing poured out with her tears. “We haven’t really talked about everything we’re giving up.”  
  
They hadn’t talked about having children for years, but it was always on the horizon. Peggy knew she wasn’t getting any younger, and she thought she might want children, someday that would have to be sooner rather than later. She knew Steve wanted them, too, even though the serum prevented him from showing the same signs of ageing that she did. But now- now there was no way they could bring a child into this. She couldn’t be pregnant, make herself more vulnerable. Her home was a place of fear and sadness, no place for a child.  
  
“If you want to leave, Peg, I wouldn’t blame you. You’ve been more than patient with me. With everything.”  
  
He was sincere, his eyes wide and earnest when she raised her head and looked up into them. He was sincere, but there was a slight tremble in his voice that told her how much devastation her departure would wreak. He was so strong, so powerful, and he was quivering jelly in her hands.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, Steve,” Peggy promised once more. “I’m not leaving you. Either of you.”  
  
“You’re too good to me,” there was wonder in his voice. Awe. “How’d I get so lucky?”  
  
“It wasn’t luck, you idiot. You deserve it. You deserved it when I met you, when you were sick, and you deserve it now. Because of who you are. Even if you’re still a hopeless dancer.”  
  
She kissed him, and Steve’s lips parted. His hands came up behind her, tangling in her hair, and she could feel him hardening against her. They hadn’t done anything like this, not since that phone call. She pulled away to breathe.  
  
“My best gal,” Steve’s adoration made the blood surge in her cheeks and between her legs. “You deserve it, too.”  
  
He guided her backwards onto the sofa, began to unbutton the top of her blouse. She worried passingly about their guest walking in on them, then remembered that he was tied to his bed.  
  
“Protection,” she gasped. “Steve, we need- ”  
  
He groaned softly, then left, quickly returning with the condom.  
  
They made love desperately, fast and rough as he sat on the sofa and she straddled him, riding him to her completion then maneuvering him on top of her as she stretched out on her back over the cushions. The noises he made as he came were the sweetest she’d ever heard.  
  
They fell asleep right there, tangled up in each other until early the next morning when they were woken by Bucky’s wordless screams.


	4. Appeals

* * *

Neither Steve or Peggy could get Bucky to settle in the darkness just before sunrise, so Peggy injected him with a sedative, trying to ignore the way Steve’s jaw clenched and his eyes glazed when the needle went into Bucky’s straining neck as he shrieked _“No!”_ in both English and Russian. Bucky woke later at ten o’clock that morning, groggy and embarrassed, calling for someone to release him from the bed. Steve did, then escorted him down the hall and waited outside the bathroom door while Bucky bathed and used the toilet. Peggy excused herself to the kitchen to give them some privacy. Eventually, she heard the bathroom door swing open.  
  
“Steve, uh,” Bucky’s voice was soft, but Peggy could hear it from where she stood over the coffee maker. “I think I need some help with- ”  
  
“Oh,” Steve’s voice was louder and Peggy detected a flustered note. “Right, um, hey, Peggy!”  
  
Peggy entered the hallway. Bucky stood in the bathroom door, fully clothed, left arm still completely covered by his shirt and glove, his long hair wet against his scalp. Steve stood against the wall to his right, and both men looked at Peggy.  
  
“What is it, Steve?”  
  
“Can you grab one of my razors for me?”  
  
She looked at Steve for a moment, then back to Bucky. The stubble on his face was getting unseemly long, not that Peggy would have mentioned it. She nodded at Steve and went to fetch a safety razor and some Barbasol from Steve’s section of her vanity. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair and makeup were perfect, but her face looked exhausted, circles under her eyes. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself sternly.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Steve took the razor and can from her. Peggy’s questions about how exactly Bucky was going to shave without a reflective surface, and an unwise offer to let him use her vanity mirror, died when Bucky stepped back into the bathroom and Steve followed him. She watched, hovering awkwardly in the hallway, as Steve sprayed shaving cream into his hands and carefully applied it to Bucky’s cheeks. He ran the water in the sink, washing his hands, and leaving the tap on as he skillfully shaved the dark, bristly hair from Bucky’s cheeks, chin, throat, and upper lip. Bucky relaxed into Steve’s ministrations, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as the razor scraped under his jaw. It was beautiful, how much he trusted Steve, and how caring Steve was with him. Peggy was mesmerized by it, and she felt a twinge of jealousy. Not for Steve’s love of Bucky, but of Bucky’s love for Steve.  
  
_How odd._  
  
Steve handed Bucky a wet towel when he was done, and Bucky wiped the residual froth and loose hair from his face.  
  
“Thanks, man,” Bucky smiled with gratitude, although he was obviously abashed by his neediness. “Just like in the trenches, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve put the razor under the water for the final time. “Except you were a lousy spot-checker.”  
  
“Gimme a break, there were fucking _bombs_ going off, Rogers! So sorry that I missed a couple hairs under your chin.”  
  
Steve laughed and turned off the water, but Bucky was already looking at Peggy in dismay.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am- _Peggy,”_ he dipped his head endearingly. “I shouldn’t be so crass.”  
  
Peggy rolled her eyes at him, chuckling along with Steve.  
  
“I told you, Bucky. I’m not much of a lady.”  
  
He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, and she bit her lip. Yes, this was good. This was good now, but how soon would it be before it all went bad again?  
  
That afternoon, Peggy made the arrangements for Wednesday from the apartment, speaking as quietly as she could over the phone with Phillips. It took nearly an hour, but by the time she ended the call it was all taken care of to her satisfaction. Then she let Winnie know, listening politely to Winnie’s heartfelt gratitude until George drew her away from the phone, and Peggy breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Bucky looked up from his place in the early pages of _Hangsaman._ Steve was in his armchair, engrossed in the primer. Her beautiful boys, reading in the sitting room.  
  
She was thinking of them as _her_ boys. It was frightening in its fragility, but it felt right to her.  
  
“Happy early birthday,” she said in response. “And your mother says ‘hello’ again.”  
  
Bucky smiled wistfully, nodded, and returned to his book. Steve was watching carefully over the top of his page, eyes darting between Bucky and Peggy.  
  
“I need to go to the drugstore,” Peggy announced, yearning for some fresh air. “Anything I can get for you gentlemen? Besides what we discussed last night, Bucky?”  
  
“Nope, ” the corners of Bucky’s mouth twitched. “But when you put it that way, it sounds dangerously scandalous.”  
  
“Don’t get cheeky with me,” Peggy laughed. “How about you, Steve?”  
  
“No, I’m- I’m good,” Steve continued to look back and forth between Bucky and Peggy, baffled. “What did you discuss- ?”  
  
“The cigarettes,” Peggy reminded him. “I told you. Apparently Bucky doesn’t approve of our brands.”  
  
Light dawned in Steve’s eyes and he smiled.  
  
“Well, tell him he can always roll his own if he wants to.”  
  
“Hey, I’m right here, tell me yourself!”  
  
Bucky threw the paperback at Steve. Steve flinched before grabbing the book and flinging it back at Bucky, who caught it deftly by the spine in his gloved hand.  
  
“Boys! Don’t damage my book.”  
  
They both looked at her wide-eyed, like schoolchildren caught playing conkers in the classroom.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve mumbled.  
  
“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky slipped back into formality.  
  
“Just, behave,” Peggy admonished them with amusement. “At least until I get back, alright?”  
  
They assured her they would, and Peggy stepped out into the entryway to put on her coat. She felt guilty for how badly she wanted to leave, and how Steve had been trapped in the apartment for the last two days without a break. She still needed to tell him about their S.H.I.E.L.D. neighbors as well.  
  
She went out the front door. The snow had been melting as of early March, but there was a bite in the air and dark clouds overhead that told her a late flurry was approaching. She pulled her hat down against a gust of cold wind and hurried to the drugstore, feeling guilty for her desertion, her cowardice, and for how much she dreaded the potential breakdown that might await her upon her return.  
  
It was forty-five minutes later when she came through the front door, a parcel containing a pack of Lucky Strikes, a tin of Aspirin, and a tin of prophylactics clutched under her arm. She paused for a moment in the entryway after she’d removed her coat, gloves, and hat, listening for the sounds of trouble. She heard nothing, so she went into the sitting room to find Steve and Bucky exactly where she’d left them, reading. They greeted her.  
  
“Here, Bucky,” Peggy approached him, unwrapping the parcel to find his cigarettes. “Another early birthday present.”  
  
“You’re too good to me,” he said as he took the pack, so reminiscent of Steve it made her blush. “Thanks, Peggy.”  
  
“You’re very welcome.”  
  
As she fumbled to rewrap the tins everything fell from her hands to the floor. Steve was already on his feet to help, but Bucky was closer. He knelt to retrieve the items, and the heat in her cheeks burned hotter when he picked up the tin of condoms first. Peggy’s embarrassment was short-lived, replaced with unease as Bucky’s eyes widened and his smiling mouth went slack. He stared at the yellow tin, at the voluptuous young woman in a short slip lounging on its lid. Bucky was afraid, and that made Peggy afraid.  
  
“Bucky?”  
  
Steve hadn’t yet realized that something had set Bucky off. He put a hand on Bucky’s right shoulder, to help himself get on his knees to finish picking up the Bayer tin, and Bucky turned on him with a guttural cry. He dropped the condom tin as his left arm came up with a series of whirs and clicks, the fist connecting with Steve’s jaw to send him toppling to the floor. Peggy had already stepped back, her hand reaching for the ever-present tranquilizer gun, resisting the ingrained urge to grab the real pistol concealed lower on her thigh.  
  
“Ne trogay menya!”  
  
Bucky scrabbled backward on the floor from both of them, his back colliding with the bottom of the sofa’s arm. He shrank into the shallow space between that arm and the end table, making the table and its contents wobble dangerously. It was remarkable, Peggy thought as she lowered the tranquilizer slightly, how large Bucky was, yet how small he could make himself as he hid.  
  
“Okay, Buck,” Steve sat up on the floor, rubbing his jaw where Peggy could see a bruise darkening. “No one’s gonna touch you if you don’t want.”  
  
“Ya ne khochu,” Bucky spat, glaring wildly between Steve and Peggy. “You- you tell me that I do, that I want it, but I _don’t!_ Ya ne khochu!”  
  
Steve glanced at Peggy as she glanced at him, never taking Bucky out of her periphery. Steve appeared to have been making good progress with his Russian, and Peggy was proud even as she felt sadness for the pain Steve would gain with his understanding.  
  
“Nikto- ” Steve began, his words falling over each other. “Nikto- nikto ne sobirayetsya, um, yesli ne- razresheniye.”  
  
Peggy wondered if this would make things better or worse. If hearing either Steve or Peggy speak Russian would send him farther off the rails.  
  
“You lie,” Bucky told Steve sullenly. “Vy vsegda lgut.”  
  
“I’m not- Ya ne vru, Bucky. Ya ne vru, Ya obeshchayu tebe.”  
  
“Lozh'.”  
  
“No. Pravda. True. I promise, Bucky. Obeshchaniye.”  
  
Bucky looked at Steve with such hope, and such confusion.  
  
“Kto chert voz'mi Bucky?”  
  
Steve looked at Peggy, not understanding, and she answered.  
  
“You are. You’re Bucky.”  
  
“Stop calling me that! Chto eto ne moye imya.”  
  
“Bucky- ”  
  
“Then what is?” Peggy cut Steve off. “What is your name?”  
  
Bucky looked up at her from the crevice he’d backed himself into. His eyes were narrowed, anger and confusion bleeding into fear when he couldn’t answer her simple question.  
  
“I don’t- sometimes they called me _Amerikanskaya_ and _Soldat._ When they came for me- to- to use me, they called me _Suka,_ and _Shlyukha,_ and _Kiska._ I don’t know, which of those sounds most like me?”  
  
Peggy wondered who he thought she was, the way dread permeated his bitterness as he growled out the spiteful words. Who did he think she was, and what did he think she would do to him?  
  
“None of those,” she told him sadly. “That’s not who you are.”  
  
“That’s it then,” Bucky shrugged and the end table lurched again. “I’m no one. Nikto. Sergeant, 32557038.”  
  
“You are someone,” Peggy countered sternly when Bucky didn’t continue the familiar mantra. “You are, and there are a great many people who love you, including Steve and myself.”  
  
“Steve? Steve. I think- Ya dumayu, chto ya yego znayu. Da, Ya yego znayu.”  
  
Steve was sitting on his haunches, rocking slightly with agitation, but he stopped when Bucky said his name and looked at him. Bucky cocked his head slightly, concentrating as he tried to remember. When he did, when his eyes widened in recognition, Peggy’s joy was short-lived as Bucky retreated impossibly further into his tiny crevice. The table, with its lamp and unwanted Carter-family snuff box, toppled with a crash that made all three of them jump.  
  
“God, Steve, don’t look at me,” Bucky put his head in his hands. “I never wanted you to see me like this.”  
  
“Bucky- ” Steve trailed off, horrified.  
  
“I get so confused, Steve,” Bucky muttered through the cage of his fingers, watery blue watching warily between pale skin and dark leather. “And I know- I know that’s my name, but it doesn’t _feel_ like my name. Just like this doesn’t feel like my body, and this doesn’t feel like my life. I know I’m gonna wake up to the dark, and the cold, and the pain, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to wake up.”  
  
“Bucky,” Steve carefully got on his hands and knees, crawling a few centimetres toward him, and Peggy heard the confidence in his voice. “You’re not gonna wake up. I promise you’re not gonna wake up.”  
  
Bucky’s back was pressed against the wall as he huddled against the sofa’s arm. He only had eyes for Steve as he slowly crept forward, but he made no indication that he wanted to run or fight. He just watched, as if resigned to any nightmare that might reveal itself.  
  
“Please don’t let me wake up,” Bucky begged with weary despondency. To whom- to Steve, to God, or to himself- Peggy was uncertain. “Please.”  
  
Steve was so close to Bucky, so dangerously close. Peggy felt a thrill of fear, and she didn’t know what she would do, what she _should_ do, if Bucky were to get violent now.  
  
“You’re not gonna wake up,” Steve repeated soothingly. “You know why?”  
  
Bucky shook his head, chest heaving.  
  
“Because you already woke up, Buck,” Steve sat next to Bucky, where the table had been, pressing gently into Bucky’s right side. “You woke up, and you’re home now. You’re safe now. You’re never going back to that place, and none of those bastards will ever lay a finger on you again, because I won’t let them.”  
  
Bucky slowly brought his hands from his face, turning his head to look at Steve. For one brief, ridiculous, instant Peggy was certain they were going to kiss, and she knew she would be strangely fine with that.  
  
“I want- I want to believe that.”  
  
“Believe it. I’m not gonna fail you again.”  
  
They embraced, Steve holding Bucky’s shuddering body until he calmed. Peggy’s hand relaxed at her side, the tranquilizer pointed at the carpet.

*

Bucky had no incidents, save for his nightmares, until after his birthday. On Tuesday, the day after the incident with the condom tin, he was quiet and deferential, to an almost alarming degree. He read the entire day, his eyes narrowed and teeth gritted in concentration as if he were angry with the ending of _Wise Blood,_ and refused every meal until dinner when Peggy insisted. Steve had cooked four pork chops, breaded with herbs, and Bucky devoured two of them silently while Steve and Peggy watched him carefully. He washed them down with two glasses of milk and asked to go to bed early at eight.  
  
“Steve, I need to tell you something,” Peggy said once Steve returned from strapping Bucky to his bed. “I should have told you when I found out, but I’ve been- distracted.”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve replied heavily. “What’s that?”  
  
She told him about their neighbors. She was afraid he’d be angry, but he only looked surprised, then incredulous.  
  
“Even Mrs. Cohn?”  
  
“That was my first thought, too!”  
  
They looked at each for a moment, then laughed.  
  
“I suppose I should have thought of that,” Steve said, sobering. “After all these years, I’m still not used to this whole- ”  
  
He trailed off, waving his hand over himself like he was a prize on a quiz show. Peggy didn’t know what to say to that, so they went over the plans for the following day, then retired to their bedroom for the night.  
  
At ten in the morning on March 10th itself, two of their S.H.I.E.L.D. agent neighbors came to the door to help supervise Bucky’s phone call. It was the Gasparyans, who turned out to be a married couple called Ghazar and Ani Papazian. Peggy hadn’t known they would be the agents, but she smoothed over the awkwardness of the situation with a joke about how insufferable _“old man”_ Phillips could be, and soon the Papazians and the Carter-Rogerses were laughing and making dinner plans while Bucky hovered awkwardly in the background with a little half-smile on his face. He had his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and he still wore that glove over his left hand, the long sleeve of his shirt hiding the rest of his metal prosthesis. Peggy was going to mention it to the psychologist when he came for the first time on Saturday.  
  
The call went well from their end. Ani made the call to the agents at the Barneses, and then Bucky spoke with his mother for nearly an hour, clutching the phone in his right hand as he sat on the sofa in the sitting room, flanked by the Papazians with Steve and Peggy sitting in the chairs across from him. Bucky’s mood shifted from easiness to mild agitation as the call progressed, but he never said anything upsetting or lost control of his emotions, even when it sounded like Winnie had.  
  
“Aw, Mom,” he mumbled into the receiver around the forty-five minute mark. “Please don’t cry. It’s fine, I’m fine.”  
  
From Bucky’s side of the conversation, Peggy had deduced that they had reminisced about Bucky’s childhood, and that Winnie was now catching Bucky up on current family events.  
  
“Can- ” Bucky’s voice broke, and Peggy saw tears in his eyes. “Mom, I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Can I speak to Dad? Is he there?”  
  
There was silence for a long minute.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
Peggy heard a deep, muffled voice speaking on the other end of the line.  
  
“No, Dad, it’s fine. Yes. Yes, I know.”  
  
His face was flushed, and Peggy saw that he was trembling slightly.  
  
“Bye, Dad. Tell Mom I love her, and I’ll see you both soon.”  
  
There was steely determination in Bucky’s promise as he said goodbye to his father and handed the phone to Ghazar so the agent could speak to one of the agents on the other side. Peggy knew that Bucky knew about the stipulations of being allowed to see his family, and she hoped he could meet them soon.  
  
“Winnie made a cake for you,” she told Bucky gently as he scrubbed angrily at his eyes. “It was delivered earlier. You should thank your lucky stars that _I_ didn’t attempt to bake anything for you.”  
  
He chuckled half-heartedly, but the heat receded from his cheeks.  
  
“That went very well,” Ani said brightly as her husband hung up the phone. “We’ll be sure to write a glowing report for the old man.”  
  
“We’ll be out of your hair now,” Ghazar stood and Ani followed suit. “Let you celebrate properly. Good to meet you, Sergeant Barnes, happy birthday.”  
  
He extended his hand to Bucky, who looked at it for a moment before shaking it firmly.  
  
“You should stay,” he said, a forced attempt at friendliness. “There’s cake, and, uh, and- ”  
  
“And I can make coffee,” Peggy added smoothly. “Do join us?”  
  
“We couldn’t impose,” Ani said with a smile. “But we’ll see you for dinner next week Thursday?”  
  
“Please,” Steve stood, shaking hands and showing them to the door. “Thank you.”  
  
After their guests left, Peggy, Steve, and Bucky sat at the kitchen table and ate slices of the beautiful Devil’s Food cake Winnie had baked and sent over. Bucky had gone silent again, picking at his slice while Steve ate two thick pieces, looking guiltily at Bucky and Peggy when he’d finished. Peggy had managed to eat more than Bucky, but her slice had been significantly smaller. Neither Steve nor Bucky had really wanted coffee, so she hadn’t made any.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Bucky spoke to his plate, poking at it with his fork. Peggy knew he was speaking to her.  
  
“You’re welcome, Bucky.”  
  
He looked up at her, stormclouds in his eyes.  
  
“I want to see them,” his chin jutted defiantly, but his voice was even. “I need to see them, Peggy.”  
  
His faith in her was as motivating as Steve’s.  
  
“I can’t make any promises,” she warned him, wishing that she could. “We’ll see how your evaluation goes on Saturday. You did very well today, so that’s a good start.”  
  
“Yeah,” he looked away from her. “Great. I gotta be judged on how well I can talk to my own parents.”  
  
“Bucky,” Steve jumped in. “I know- ”  
  
“You don’t know anything, Steve!”  
  
Steve closed his mouth, visibly hurt, and there was temporary silence as Peggy wondered what to say to both men.  
  
“Sorry,” Bucky sucked in a lungful of air. “That wasn’t- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to snap.”  
  
“I get it, Buck.”  
  
“I just- ” Bucky took another deep breath. “I need to be alone, but I _can’t_ be alone unless I’m on the can or tied to my bed.”  
  
He looked so defeated in his frustration, and Peggy found herself opening her mouth before she’d fully registered what she was about to say.  
  
“Well, I think we can make an exception for today, seeing that it’s your birthday.”  
  
Both Bucky and Steve looked at her, Bucky with suspicious hope and Steve with surprise. They simultaneously asked her the same question.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes,” she was being foolish, breaking the rules. “Pick a room, it’s yours until this evening. Steve and I won’t bother you. Unless, of course- ”  
  
“I start screaming and throwing things?”  
  
But the bitterness in Bucky’s voice was tinged with joy, and Peggy felt her heart swell. She couldn’t give Bucky everything, but she wanted to give him this.  
  
“For example,” she smiled at him. “But I have faith in you.”  
  
She wanted to. She wanted to have the same faith in him that Steve did. The same faith Steve had in her. The same faith Bucky was apparently developing for her as well.  
  
“Thanks,” Bucky said with wonder. “I’ve been wanting to just lie on my bed and read.”  
  
“Then what are you waiting for?”  
  
Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped up from the table and his unfinished cake, clapping Steve on the shoulder and kissing Peggy on the top of her head before he disappeared into the sitting room to get his books. She heard his feet on the floorboards in the hallway, and the sound of his door gently shutting.  
  
“Peggy?”  
  
She looked at Steve, ready to defend herself and her rash decision, but he didn’t accuse her of anything. He was looking at her with an amused smirk on his infuriatingly still-boyish face.  
  
_“What?”_  
  
“You’re blushing.”  
  
She was. Goddamnit.  
  
“So, what if I am?” Peggy felt like a schoolgirl. “He’s- he’s very handsome, isn’t he? I’m only human.”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve’s eyes drifted to the door through which Bucky had exited. “He is.”  
  
“Do you love him?”  
  
She hadn’t meant to ask him. Not so directly, and not so soon, but it was too late to take it back, and she had to know the answer.  
  
“Peggy, I- ”  
  
Steve opened his mouth and Peggy could see the thoughts flitting over his face. Purposeful misunderstandings of her question _(“Of course I love him, he’s my best friend! We grew up together!”),_ deflections _(“I love **you,** Peg.”),_ or blatant lies _(“No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous!”)_  
  
She realized that she already knew the answer a second before Steve gave it to her.  
  
“Yes. I do. I love him.”  
  
His face was unreadable, his eyes wide. She didn’t know what to say, not immediately, so she looked away.  
  
“I’m sorry, Peggy,” Steve continued with desperate haste. “It’s- it’s not that I don’t love you, because I do! I love you so much, but I love him the same way, too. And I know that’s not how it’s supposed to work, but it’s the way I feel, and I can’t help it. Please- please don’t think- ”  
  
Peggy looked back at him. He was so earnest, and she believed him. It absolved her of her guilt for some of her own thoughts as of late. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to confess them to Steve yet, however.  
  
“I know, Steve. You told me before we got married, and I knew as soon as we got that phone call he was alive. I saw it on your face. I won’t pretend to understand how it’s going to work, but I know.”  
  
She’d seen that look on his face before. That adoring wonder. She didn’t want to hear his compliments at the moment, so she cut him off before he could utter them.  
  
“Does he know?”  
  
She knew the answer to that, too.  
  
“No,” Steve’s face fell. “I don’t think so, no.”  
  
“Will you tell him?”  
  
“No. He- he doesn’t need that right now.”  
  
She nodded in agreement.  
  
“Will you ever tell him?”  
  
Fear and shame flashed in Steve’s eyes.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
It was a testament to his faith in her that he didn’t make her promise to keep his secret. He already knew that she would.


	5. Variables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first update posted exclusively to ao3. All other updates will happen here.

* * *

Thursday and Friday passed uneventfully, except for Bucky having a particularly loud nightmare on Thursday night. He had done so well on his birthday that Peggy was allowing him more freedom in the apartment. He could be in his room by himself, with the door open, and he spent most of his time in there, sprawled on his bed, reading away. It made Peggy smile every time she passed by.

Saturday morning marked the one-week anniversary of Bucky being released to their care, as well as the S.H.I.E.L.D. psychologist’s first visit. Dr. Henry Clivedon was in his late forties, short and lean with a thick brown mustache that put Howard Stark’s to shame. He arrived at their apartment carrying a dry umbrella and a good-sized leather briefcase, accompanied by the aforementioned Stark and two agents that Peggy had never met. Steve’s anxiety about the evaluation was mitigated by Howard’s appearance, which Peggy suspected had been the idea, but she was glad that Steve was less on-edge. Peggy made sure to mention her concerns about Bucky’s obsession with concealing his metal arm, and Dr. Clivedon said he would ask about it.

The session was held in Bucky’s room, alone with Dr. Clivedon, with Bucky restrained in his bed. The entire thing would be recorded, but no one else was allowed to be in the room. Bucky greeted the psychologist with forced enthusiasm, shaking his hand with a smile, and Peggy marveled once more at how youthful Bucky looked. He was barely a decade behind Dr. Clivedon, but he seemed so much younger. Both he and Steve were ageing very slowly, undoubtedly a side-effect of the serums with which they’d been injected. She tamped down the simmering fear of her own fleeting youth, her own mortality, forever juxtaposed with her fresh-faced husband, and now his friend.

The two agents accompanied Bucky and Dr. Clivedon into Bucky’s room to restrain him. After they re-emerged, they joined Peggy, Steve, and Howard in the sitting room. Awkward silence ensued. Peggy had brought out coffee, but only the agents were partaking.

“So,” Howard tried eventually, after sipping his cold coffee and pulling a face. “What, uh, have you been reading lately, Peggy?”

“I’ve not been reading as much I should,” Peggy admitted. “I’ve been so busy lately. Really, Bucky’s proven himself the reader in this family.”

She thought about what she’d said as Howard nodded politely and repeated his query to Steve. The word had rolled off her tongue so naturally.  _ Family. _

“Russian primers mostly,” Steve answered, obviously distracted. “Almost through the second-to-last one.”

“He’s doing very well with the language,” Peggy offered. “He’s done better in a week than I’ve done in a decade.”

Howard opened his mouth to say something, but Peggy never heard it. A loud, long scream sounded from Bucky’s room, and Steve was nothing but a streak of blue cotton, black wool, and ruddy skin as he flew from the room. By the time Peggy, Howard, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents arrived in the hallway, Steve had flung himself at the door, breaking it down with a splintering crash. There was another scream from behind the door’s remains, and Peggy recognized it as Bucky’s. She followed her husband into the room with her heart in her throat and her hand at her gun.

Bucky was restrained, but he was struggling violently against the straps. He screamed again, deep, wordless, and full of terror. Steve was on the other side of the room by the closet, pushing Dr. Clivedon against the wall with one hand wrapped around the psychologist’s neck.

“Let go of the doctor, Captain Rogers.”

Peggy heard one of the agents say calmly as they both drew their guns behind her. She knew they weren’t tranquilizers.

“What the  _ hell?” _

Howard entered the room last, taking in the scene. Steve glanced over his shoulder, his face frightening in its rage. He didn’t let Clivedon go.

“He was  _ hurting _ him,” Steve snarled, giving the gasping doctor a shake. “Look!”

Peggy looked where Steve’s eyes indicated. At Bucky, fighting to get free. He’d stopped screaming, but his face was contorted in terror. Peggy saw what she hadn’t at first. The electrodes against Bucky’s temples, not readily apparent because they were the same color as his flesh. The wires led to a small, black box next to the toppled chair in which Dr. Clivedon had presumably been sitting.

“Ya govoril tebe,” Bucky panted listlessly. “I told you. Ya skazal vam vse.”

“Captain Rogers, release him,” the same agent commanded grimly, voice raised over Bucky. “We won’t warn you again.”

Peggy calmed her fear and anger. She wanted to figure out just what the hell was going on here, and she wanted to do that without her husband’s brains painting the walls.

“Steve, let him go.”

Steve let the doctor go at Peggy’s soft request. Clivedon fell to floor, rubbing at his neck while he gulped for air. Steve took a step back, glaring at him with disdain. Then he went to Bucky, leaning over him with his back to the room, and carefully began to peel the electrodes from his skin.

“Vy skazali, chto eto bylo zakoncheno,” Bucky sounded accusatory. “Pozhaluysta, ne boleye.”

“It  _ is _ over, Bucky,” Steve’s voice cracked and he had to swallow hard. “Vse okoncheno, I promise. Ya obeshchayu tebe.”

“What exactly is going on here?”

Peggy turned to the agents with authoritarian ice in her tone. The men had lowered their weapons, but only one had stowed his. He went to help Dr. Clivedon to his feet. The other held Peggy’s gaze.

“Everything according to orders, ma’am.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name, Agent- ?”

“Jacobs, ma’am.”

“Agent Jacobs, I was given no instructions that Sergeant Barnes was to be hooked up to any machines. This was merely to be a talking session between him and a licensed psychologist. What did he mean when he said he’d ‘told you everything’?”

Agent Jacobs shrugged indifferently.

“My instructions were to escort Dr. Clivedon to this location, then escort him back to headquarters once he’d completed his information extraction from this former HYDRA asset.”

Peggy stared at him, blinking slowly as she judged the veracity of his words. Then she rounded on Howard, who looked as shocked as Peggy felt.

“Did you know about this?”

“No. I didn’t, Peggy,” Howard’s eyes were comically wide, his dark mustache lining the top of his gaping mouth like a furry caterpillar clinging to a pink leaf. “I swear I didn’t know.”

She believed him. That helped somewhat as she processed these unforeseen variables of their situation.

“Get out.”

Steve’s voice was low and dangerous. The rumble of thunder on the horizon promising a violent storm. His back was tense, his shoulders raised, and his hands fisted on top of the blanket. Peggy shivered, her composure faltering. She looked at Steve, beside Bucky where he lay. Steve hadn’t unstrapped him, but he’d removed every wire and Bucky looked calmer. He was staring silently up at the ceiling, somewhere far away.

“But I haven’t- ”

Dr. Clivedon was thwarted by a loud coughing fit before he could finish telling them what he hadn’t done. Peggy gathered that was for the best. So did Agent Jacobs, from the way his fingers clenched around the grip of his pistol and the way he glanced furtively at his partner.

“Get out!”

Everyone in the room jumped at Steve’s bellowing command. Bucky made a small noise of distress, but then quieted. Clivedon wisely fled the room immediately, leaving his briefcase and equipment behind. Jacobs and his partner rushed to follow the doctor. There was a brief silence.

“You want me to leave, too?”

“That would probably be for the best,” Peggy answered Howard. “Here, they’ll probably want this back.”

She went to the fallen chair, unconsciously righting it. She knelt, tucking her dress modestly behind the backs of her knees, and picked up the sinister black box. It was made of light metal, a row of silver switches underneath a round dial on one side. She couldn’t read the interface as she packed it away into Clivedon’s briefcase along with its dangling wires. It made her skin crawl, even once she’d clicked the case shut and stood to offer it to Howard. He took it, said a hasty goodbye to the three of them, and left. Steve acknowledged Howard’s departure with a nod and a wave. Peggy took that as a good sign.

“Steve?”

Peggy went to Steve’s side. He hadn’t moved since he’d finished freeing Bucky from the electrodes. Peggy could see his muscles quivering. She glanced down at Bucky. His eyes had closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What’re we gonna do, Peg?”

The storm was passed. Steve was lost. Weary, and afraid, and Peggy hated it.

“We’re going to talk to Phillips immediately. I’ll call him right now.”

“You didn’t see it,” Steve was looking out the barred window, seething pensively. “He had those wires on his head, and the doctor was sitting there with that box, flipping switches and asking about some operative’s name. And Bucky was just- just screaming. He was in so much pain, Peg. The doctor was  _ torturing _ him.”

Steve stopped and looked down at her with horror, as if he’d only now comprehended the entirety of the situation.

“That S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor was torturing him.”

“Yes, he was, but he never will again.”

_ Because Bucky’s family. Because you love him, and I love you, and I think I might love him, too. _

“I’m going to call Phillips.”

She was leaving the room when Steve’s quiet voice stopped her.

“This is gonna make him worse, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted sadly. “Perhaps.”

“I lied when I told him he was safe, didn't I? He’s never gonna be safe.”

Their new, fragile peace had been upset a mere week after its establishment. Her beautiful idealist was slipping away. Her beautiful boys were crumbling before her eyes.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Peggy vowed fiercely, to Steve, to Bucky, and to herself, and went to call Colonel Phillips.


	6. Reason and Reasonability

* * *

“Yes, Carter, I knew,” Phillips said heavily. “I ordered it.”

Peggy had failed to reach him by telephone, but before she could try anything drastic Howard had called to inform her that the old man was in his office, hard at work even on a Saturday. Howard had sent a car for her before he’d called. She smiled fondly on the ride over. Howard was somehow the most infuriating man she knew, yet also the most wonderful. Well, second-most wonderful. Or was that now third-most?

The way she’d started the conversation by barging indignantly into Phillips’ office hadn’t, perhaps, been her finest diplomatic moment, but she was proud of herself for holding her ground. Phillips went through his familiar rigmarole of bluster and insults, but he’d finally ended his campaign of distraction and they were having a real conversation.

“Why?”

Peggy tried to keep her question impassive, but she could hear the hurt in her voice. Phillips gave her a hard look.

“Carter, I know you married an idiot. Doesn’t mean you have to become one, too.”

“With all due respect, Colonel,” Peggy said with dauntless composure. “I’ll thank you not to speak that way about my husband.”

Phillips sighed, but she could see the apology in his eyes and in the clipped nod of his head.

“So, then,” Peggy continued after a moment. “What is the meaning of what happened this morning?”

Phillips sighed again. After consideration, he pulled a file from a drawer behind him and pushed it across the desk toward her. She took it with hands that remained steadfast despite every instinct warning her of danger. Not a physical, present danger, but something far worse. Something she would be unable to fight, let alone overcome.

“Do you want to read it yourself first?” Phillips asked gruffly.

“I’ll read it,” she said. “After you’ve told me.”

_ You owe me that much, _ she didn’t say, but she narrowed her eyes.  _ Tell me what you’ve kept from me. Tell me what I’m due to know. _

Phillips told her. He told her a story, some of which she knew already. A story about an organization in its infancy, taking its first steps. An organization fighting another organization, an older, evil organization, that refused to die no matter how many of its heads were cut off. That other organization had taken an idea from the younger organization’s forebearer. The idea of a lucrative supersoldier. It had been mere, cosmically unfair coincidence that the evil organization’s first and only success had been upon the captured best friend of the SSR’s first and only success in their mutual endeavors.

Peggy was surprised to learn that the experiments on Bucky had begun before his fall from the train. They’d begun after the survivors of the 107th had been captured at Azzano in 1943 and taken to a HYDRA factory as laborers. Bucky had been sick and had been beaten nearly to death by a HYDRA guard for failing to perform adequately in the work detail. Soon after, he’d been taken from the workforce and given to Arnim Zola for use in his experiments. The HYDRA version of the supersoldier serum that Bucky had been injected with in Zola’s lab had undoubtedly been the reason for his survival after his fall a year later.

“During his initial debriefing he told us that’s where he lost his arm,” Phillips informed her neutrally. “We didn’t get much out of him at first, but he did say he remembered trying to grab onto something to break his fall. Apparently his velocity was too much for his arm to take.”

Peggy repressed her shudder at the image Phillips’ words were conjuring. She nodded and indicated that he should continue. Even though she essentially knew what had happened next, she let Phillips fill in all the sordid details. Bucky had been found by a HYDRA unit and taken to another Austrian facility. Less than two months later, he’d been sent to Siberia, where HYDRA had moved their supersoldier program because of the changing tide of the War in Europe. He’d remained in that facility for the remaining nine years of his internment.

“Everything we know is in that file there,” Phillips told her, a warning in his voice. “Including everything we know happened to him there during those nine years. Some he told us himself, some we gathered from the files we recovered from the base he was kept at.”

“He’s told us some details himself,” Peggy reminded him. “They’re all in my reports.”

“I know, Carter. I’ve read them.”

Phillips paused, searching Peggy’s face for something she couldn’t determine. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he continued his story with no hesitation.

“They tortured him in every way possible. Physically, mentally, even sexually. They used traditional brainwashing techniques, as well as some of their own experimental methods. They kept him in isolation for most of that time, although they would sometimes let him bond with other prisoners for a few months before killing those prisoners in front of him. They would give him the option of killing them himself in exchange for not being tortured. It was five years before he took them up on the offer.”

Phillips swallowed hard. Peggy’s knuckles were white where they clutched her dress over her knees, hidden from Phillips behind his desk.

“Don’t for a minute believe that I have nothing but the utmost respect for that man,” there was admiration in Phillips’ voice as he glared at Peggy. “I’ve been a P.O.W. I’ve been tortured. But not for a quarter of the time Sergeant Barnes was. Five years is a helluva long time to hold out, and I know stronger men than me who would’ve broken in half that time.”

“Then why are you having him tortured now?” Peggy’s voice was steady. “What purpose does that serve?”

“If I had any alternative, I’d use it, Carter!”

Peggy detected the first note of misgiving in the old man’s tone. She filed it away for later use.

“HYDRA’s  _ here, _ Carter. It’s in the States, indisputably inside S.H.I.E.L.D., and probably got its slimy tentacles in the Government. We lost track of that little toad Zola, and that’s on me, I’ll admit it, but there’s no use crying over spilled milk when  _ all _ the cows are about to be slaughtered.”

“What?”

Peggy’s resolve faltered. She didn’t want to believe what Phillips was telling her. She was proud of S.H.I.E.L.D., of the good it was doing. She’d believed HYDRA on the verge of defeat, on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. Not  _ inside _ her fledgling organization.

“Zola was here, helping us in exchange for sanctuary,” Phillips admitted. “He gave us intel on HYDRA it would’ve taken years to gather on our own. What we didn’t realize was that he was only giving us information on the factions he wanted purged from HYDRA. The radical ones that worshiped Schmidt. Not the ones trying to evolve HYDRA’s goals for the future.”

“And he was also recruiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. at the same time?”

Peggy accused sharply. Phillips didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Peggy’s anger flared. She felt her nails bite into her knees through the fabric of her dress. She’d taken such care doing her nails that morning. Painting them in pale pink instead of her favorite red, thankful at least that the popular style didn’t require her to paint around the moons and tips like she’d been encouraged by her mother to do in her youth. She resented that such things were required of her at all. She resented how they didn’t matter in the slightest, and yet mattered so much in society’s view of her worth.

“After Zola disappeared, we tracked down everyone he recruited.”

The  _ everyone we know of _ hung in the air, unsaid yet understood.

“And what does that have to do with Buck- with Sergeant Barnes?”

“Zola returned to Siberia four-and-half-years after Barnes got there. He was responsible for the success HYDRA had in breaking Barnes’s mind. He created that metal prosthetic, and deemed Barnes  _ safe _ enough toward HYDRA to give it to him.”

She remembered what she’d been told the day after Bucky had been found. How close HYDRA had been to succeeding in his reconditioning. Giving him that weapon of an arm was surely a sign of good faith on HYDRA’s part, and it chilled her how the ramifications of that fact hadn’t fully occurred to her when she’d agreed to let Bucky into her home. They would have before. Before she’d fallen in love with Steve.

“Sadly,” Phillips continued. “The good doctor wasn’t there when we raided the facility. He’s out there, God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what, and our best link to finding and stopping both him and HYDRA just happens to be your houseguest.”

“Why would you even- ” Peggy shook her head incredulously. At Phillips, but also at herself. “If what you say is true, why would you let us take him home with us?”

“Frankly, Carter, it’s ‘cause I’m soft. I like you. I like Rogers, too. He’s infuriating, but he’s got heart.”

Peggy didn’t let herself smile at the compliments. Phillips was more cunning than that, there had to be more.

“And,” Phillips admitted after a pause. “We knew we could get what we needed from Barnes no matter where he was living. Let the poor kid have some kind of comfort, and keep Captain America happy? Everybody wins.”

She shook her head, trying not to let his words sound reasonable to her.

“No, not everybody. You kept secrets from me, Colonel. Secrets that might have put my husband, myself, and others in danger.”

“Your husband is a goddamn bonafide  _ superhuman, _ and I have every confidence in your own abilities, Carter. You are surrounded by agents day and night. You were never in any danger.”

“I should have been told,” Peggy repeated obstinately. “I am a co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. and I should have been told.”

“Your objectivity’s been compromised, Carter. I saw it the moment you barged into my office demanding Barnes be released into your care. You’re married to Rogers, there’s no way you could have viewed this rationally. Not to mention Rogers’s reaction when you tell him.”

She was glad Phillips was aware that she would tell Steve. That meant he’d accepted the fallout that the revelation would unavoidably bring.

“It’s all moot now, isn’t it? I know, and soon Steve will know, and what do you think he’ll do then?”

“I expect he’ll come to my door with righteous fury, try to shout at me and threaten me until I see things his way. Then he’ll resign from S.H.I.E.L.D., probably make a big show of it, too.”

Peggy bit back her fond smile as she pictured Steve, her dramatic idealist, embedding his shield in a wall and railing against the situation’s injustice with a slew of profanities unbecoming of the sanitized superhero Captain America had come to represent to the public.

“But it’s not Rogers I’m concerned with, Carter. It’s you.”

Her fantasy ended abruptly and she looked at Phillips, surprised.

“Me?”

“You’re the reasonable one. The spy. Smartest person, woman or man, I’ve ever met. Not trying to butter you up or anything, it’s just the God’s-honest truth. After Captain America resigns, what are you going to do?”

_ I’ll leave, too. _

It was on the tip of Peggy’s tongue, but her brain caught up with her indignation. If they both left S.H.I.E.L.D. then neither would be permitted to care for Bucky. He’d be sent back to this facility, locked away in a room with limited visitors, and routinely tortured for information on HYDRA. Any progress he’d made since he’d been allowed to come live with Peggy and Steve would slip away. And Steve? Steve would die before he let any of that happen, and die he probably would when he inevitably came to break Bucky out of S.H.I.E.L.D. Steve was strong, fast, and smarter than most people gave him credit for, but he wasn’t bullet-proof-

Phillips acknowledged her silent answer as she looked at him in defeat. She was trapped.  _ They _ were trapped; once she explained everything to Steve, he’d undoubtedly remain an agent as well. Or maybe he’d throw his last shred of reason to the wind, take Bucky, and run. They’d end up dead, or imprisoned, or at the very least she’d never see Steve again. Steve  _ or _ Bucky, and she couldn’t bear that thought.

“Is Clivedon even a psychologist?” Peggy’s voice was smaller than she would have liked. “Or is he just S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new Inquisitor?”

_ The one I knew nothing about, even though I’m one of the fucking founders! _

“He’s a psychologist. One of the best in the field. He developed the information extraction technique we’ve been using. We flew him out from the Chicago office yesterday, specifically for this purpose.”

“You’re certain he’s not one of Zola’s?”

She asked sharply, letting her hidden rage get the best of her.

“The pain is incidental, Carter. You really think I want to strap down a War hero and electrocute him? We’ve been spacing the sessions out, every couple days to begin with, now once a week. Clivedon and his team are working on a painless procedure, but for the time being  _ this is all we have. _ We need to know what Zola’s plans are and where he is. There are a lot of lives on the line. The stability of the entire fucking world. This is bigger than me or you. Or Sergeant Barnes, and if his brains weren’t scrambled eggs, you know he’d agree with me.”

Peggy was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. Her fists trembled at her sides as she fought against the reasonability of Phillips’s argument. She pictured Steve’s face, the hope in his eyes whenever Bucky made a breakthrough, no matter how small. She pictured his eyes when she’d left him this morning, defeat replacing his hope, and she didn’t want to be reasonable

“You can tell yourself that. If what you’ve told me is true about HYDRA infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D., I would argue that we not help it along with our own actions. As a high-ranking agent and one of the founders, I would expect that much at least.”

“Carter- ”

She pictured Bucky’s face, any hope to be found in his eyes immediately tempered with suspicion. How strong that made him, that after the last ten years of horror he could have anything resembling hope left inside him. How strong, and how good. She pictured how empty his eyes had been after Clivedon’s interrupted procedure this morning, and she didn’t want to hear another word Phillips had to say. She didn’t  _ want _ to be reasonable.

“Good day, Colonel,” Peggy told him dispassionately as she took the file from the desk and prepared to leave. “Please don’t withhold information from me again. As you said, I am intelligent, and beyond that I am owed at least a measure of respect for my role here.”

She swept from the room before Phillips could say anything more. She waited until she was down the hall in her office with the door closed before she allowed herself to shake. Once she began, she couldn’t contain it. Her body shook violently with every emotion she’d been holding back, and she clutched the thick file hard enough to bend it. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, but she bit her lip to keep any breathy gasps in check. She allowed herself ten minutes of despair, carefully counted on her silver desk clock. Then she straightened her coat and dress, pulled a hand mirror from her desk drawer to reapply her makeup, and left the privacy of her office with the hated file tucked underneath her arm. Shoulders set, heels clicking down the hall, she returned to the waiting car and ordered the driver to take her home.


	7. Reprieve

* * *

Peggy could feel the atmosphere change the moment she stepped over her threshold. The fear and sadness inside the apartment had grown, nearly palpable enough to consider it a fourth resident, this one unwelcome. Peggy hung her hat and coat in the front hall, turning to check her reflection in the nonexistent mirror she still expected to see on the wall. She shook her head at her forgetfulness and went into the sitting room. Neither of her boys were there, so she went cautiously down the hall to find them, file in hand. It felt so much heavier than its size, and she dreaded having Steve read it. Even more than she dreaded dealing with the aftermath of the morning. She knew it would be worse the longer she put it off.

The doorway to Bucky’s room was empty. The wooden pieces of the broken door had been removed, the hinges as well. They probably wouldn’t be able to get a replacement until Monday morning, and she knew that would make Bucky uncomfortable, but it couldn’t be helped. She quietly peered around the doorway’s frame, afraid of what she might see.

Bucky was sleeping in his bed, lying on his back on top of the bedclothes, as he’d been when Peggy had left. The only difference was that he was now unrestrained by anything except Steve’s right arm resting lightly across his chest with his fingers curled gently in the fabric of Bucky’s left sleeve. Steve lay on his side beside Bucky, farthest from the door, and he appeared to be asleep as well. Bucky’s arms were at his sides and his left sleeve had ridden up where Steve’s hand held it on his upper forearm. The silver metal underneath gleamed in the sunlight escaping from the crack between the drawn linen curtains. The bed was much too small for two large men, and Steve had let Bucky take up most of the space. His chest was pressed against Bucky’s right arm, but Peggy could see that Steve’s back was hanging over the edge of the mattress. What she could see of Bucky’s face in the room’s grey light looked peaceful, far more peaceful than she’d ever seen him look, even back when she’d first met him. His hair fell behind him on the ivory pillow, a dark halo around his sleep-softened face. What she could see of Steve’s face was relaxed, blissful, and she was caught by the sudden fear that she couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever looked so happy in the bed he shared with her.

She stopped her thoughts from spiralling down that path. Jealousy would only add to the cloud of fear and sadness, and she wanted to be far above that sort of pettiness. She let a gentle smile crack her lips instead, warmth glowing in her heart at the purity of the contentment on her boys’ faces. Quietly, she sat in the chair beside the bed, placing the file in her lap as she watched Steve and Bucky sleep. She wanted to look at the file before she handed it to Steve, so she would know exactly what Steve would be subjected to, but it felt wrong to open the paper cover in here. It felt like a shield between all three of them and the difficulties ahead, and she didn’t want to be the Pandora to unleash the evil into the room. Not yet, just a little longer.

Peggy sat there, watching the rise and fall of Steve’s arm on Bucky’s chest. The only indication of time passing was the changing sliver of light from the window. When that light had turned orange and soft, Bucky woke up. He woke suddenly, but not violently. Peggy saw his eyes open and heard his breathing quicken. She sat up straighter, readying herself for anything as his gaze shot from Steve’s arm over his chest, to Steve’s face on his right, and finally to his left, to her face. They looked at each other for a long moment, a silent understanding passing between them to stay there, quiet and still, for as long as Steve slept.

Peggy was relieved to see recognition in Bucky’s face even after the events of the morning, but she saw something beyond that. Something she’d glimpsed only once, over a decade before in a pub in London. Bucky was looking at her with intense scrutiny, as he had then, but here his eyes didn’t roam leeringly over her body and hers didn’t slide dismissively away. They’d both been making power plays, but she realized now that they’d been silently fighting over Steve. She saw it so clearly that she wanted to laugh at her younger self, standing there in that tight red dress chosen to elicit the reaction she’d wanted, and had gotten, from Steve. There had been, and still was, jealousy in Bucky’s eyes. Jealousy, and desire, and a fierce protectiveness that would have made a lesser person than Peggy quail, and she wanted to laugh again, perhaps cruelly, at Steve and his firm belief that Bucky hadn’t, didn’t, and couldn’t love him in the same way.

_ I loved him first, _ Bucky told her silently, as he had then, ocean-eyes holding back a hurricane.  _ Remember that I loved him first. _

Peggy recalled Steve’s stories about Bucky looking out for him when they’d been younger. He’d repeated some of them in the last few weeks, as if to justify the lengths to which he would go for Bucky now.

_ “I had nothing after Mom died, Peg. Nothing, and no one. Except him.” _

She saw that protectiveness on display, so deeply ingrained that ten years of brainwashing and torture had been unable to wipe it away. She wanted to say something, to tell Bucky that she finally understood, but she didn’t want to wake Steve. She nodded instead. A simple dip of her jaw as her lips curled and her eyes widened without leaving Bucky’s. His face softened in response, and he gave her one of his rare, tiny-but-genuine smiles before he looked away, back to Steve. Her heart fluttered, and she didn’t try to repress it. She didn’t know how this was going to work, but that was a thought for later.

Steve didn’t sleep much longer. He sat up just after waking, nearly falling off the edge of the bed before Bucky caught his arm, steadying him as Bucky sat up himself. Steve was briefly confused by his surroundings, then embarrassed as he insisted that Peggy and Bucky should have woken him sooner. Bucky rolled his eyes at Peggy in exasperated commiseration, and her heart fluttered again. She felt included in the bond between him and Steve, and she hoped Bucky understood that she’d let go the last vestiges of their unspoken rivalry. She hoped he had as well.

“So, uh,” Bucky scratched at the back of his head sheepishly as he glanced between Peggy and Steve. “I don’t remember how we ended up in bed together.”

Peggy was curious as well, and she looked at Steve to hear his explanation. It was Steve’s turn to glance between the other two as he carefully chose his words.

“Just after you left, Peg. Buck, you got upset and- and I couldn’t leave you in those straps, but I couldn’t let you, uh- ”

“Break anything,” Bucky supplied flatly.

“Hurt yourself,” Steve corrected. “And you were okay with me getting on the bed with you, so I thought that was the best option.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Bucky tried to regain some composure. “And thanks for not snoring like when we were kids.”

Steve gave him a forced smile.

“Well, I breathe a little better these days.”

There was silence as something passed between them. Something bittersweet that made Bucky look down and Steve look away, searching for a distraction.

“What’s that, Peg?” 

Steve’s eyes honed in on the file in her lap, squinting, as if he could sense the danger inside. She opened her mouth, formulating a response, but Bucky beat her to it.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?”

His mouth twisted as he viciously pulled down on his left sleeve until the cuff met the black leather covering his hand. She remembered that morning. What Dr. Clivedon had promised to ask but hadn’t. She almost asked it herself now, but thought better of it. Their peace was so fragile, and intoxicating, and she didn’t want to be the one to destroy it.

“You’re right,” she said instead, holding the file out towards Bucky before she realized exactly what she was doing. “It  _ is _ yours, more than mine or Steve’s at any rate. Do you want to read it first?”

Steve exhaled sharply, and Peggy’s eyes flitted between the wary surprise on Bucky’s face and the fear on Steve’s. She was on tenterhooks, waiting to see if she had destroyed their peace after all.

“Peggy,” Steve said her name in gentle warning. “He doesn’t want to- ”

“Steve, shut up,” Bucky growled with equal warning. His eyes had never left Peggy’s face since she’d offered him the file. “You don’t speak for me.”

Peggy felt the chill enter the room, and her heart clenched as she registered Steve’s reaction to the rebuke. His face paled, then reddened, twisting with mournful anger, but he didn’t say anything else. They sat silently for a moment, the file outstretched in Peggy’s steady hands in the space between them until Bucky’s gloved hand reached out with a faint mechanical hum and took the papers from her.

“Why?”

He had the file in his lap, but he didn’t look at it. He refused to release Peggy from his gaze, and his question dripped with shame and suspicion.

“Because you’re not our patient, and you’re certainly not our prisoner. You’re family, it’s your life, and you get a say in this, too.”

She saw Steve relax minutely in her periphery. Bucky swallowed hard and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, his eyes shining as they finally left hers and fell down to his lap.

“Only took me a week, Stevie,” he swallowed again, the hint of a joke in his thick voice. “Only a week, and I think your old lady likes me more’n you. Guess I still got it, huh?”

Steve took the olive branch with an exasperated smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Barnes. You ungrateful, home-wrecking punk.”

The chill fled the room as quickly as it had entered. Bucky settled back stiffly against the headboard, the ghost of a confident smirk in his eyes and on his lips.

“Jealous?”

“Of you? Not in this lifetime.”

“You did lose points by calling me  _ old lady,” _ Peggy interjected, fighting and losing against the grin beginning to split her mouth. “But I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

Bucky put his eyes on hers again with careful focus, and she was swept away. Lost at sea. Too lost to remember that she was supposed to be afraid of him.

“Oh darlin’, don’t pretend you don’t know you’re the most beautiful woman either of us have ever seen. You ended up with  _ this _ mook, so your judgment is questionable, but there ain’t nothin’ old about you.”

She heard Steve’s mock protest at Bucky's gall, unintelligible through his laughter, but she was drowning in Bucky’s eyes and couldn’t look away. She couldn’t form the words to assure Steve of anything. She wondered if this was what Steve had wanted, for her to fall as in love with Bucky as he was. She wondered again how this was going to work, when it wasn’t something one talked about in polite society. She’d have to get over that, but she knew she could. She’d gotten over plenty of other strictures from her upbringing.

Bucky mercifully released her from his gaze and they made their way into the sitting room for a smoke, Bucky leaving the file closed on top of the stack of books on his dresser. She’d let Bucky choose to read it or not in his own time. As they sat Peggy let herself look at both of them. She watched Steve, sitting on the sofa next to her, as he slowly relaxed from the revelations of the morning while maintaining a vigilance to the danger of what he didn’t yet know. He'd barely taken a drag of his cigarette. She watched Bucky, sitting in the armchair, as the shadow of confidence lingered over his haunted eyes. She let herself look at the rest of his face, at his full lips curled around his cigarette and the hint of stubble on his cheeks. Her other beautiful boy.

Her eyes began to drift lower, but she stopped herself when she got to his broad shoulders. It still felt wrong, what she was thinking. Even if Steve felt that way, even if he seemed to encourage her to feel the same, it felt wrong. She wasn't ready to get over that just yet. Besides, there were far more pressing matters at hand.


	8. Introspection

* * *

They had a light dinner at five. Steve cleared the dishes, Bucky washed, and Peggy dried. Afterwards they sat at the kitchen table and Peggy told them what she’d learned from Phillips, glossing over some of the details without omitting anything important. Steve made noises of frightening indignation throughout, huffing as he breathed out through his nose. Bucky remained silent, but his face was paler than usual. By the time Peggy had finished she was wary of him again, and she hated how much that comforted her. It felt more natural than the thoughts she’d had earlier. It felt safer.

“So we’re trapped,” Steve growled angrily, figuring it out as Peggy had known he would. “We don’t know who might be HYDRA, and we can’t leave or else- ”

He stopped talking abruptly, glancing guiltily at Bucky. Peggy looked, too. Bucky was stiff in his chair, his hands at his sides grabbing the wooden seat.

“You’re not trapped,” Bucky said dully. His skin shivered but there was no hint of a tremor in his voice. “It makes sense that they want to know what I know, even if I can’t remember it without a little help.”

Peggy recalled Phillips’ assertions that Bucky would agree with him were he in his right mind, and she was enraged that no one but Steve and herself could see that Bucky _was_ capable of rational thought.

“You’re not trapped,” he repeated with resolution. “Tell them I’ll cooperate without a fuss.”

“Bucky, no, c’mon,” Steve weighed in. Her beautiful idealist. “You don’t have to- we can fight this- ”

Bucky gave him a hard look.

“No, we can’t. You know we can’t, and this way is better for everybody. I’ll let them do whatever they need to get this stuff outta my head.”

Familiar self-loathing entered his voice.

“I just want it out, even if that means forgetting again. I just want it out!”

He brought his right hand to his temple, clawing savagely at hair and skin.

“Buck, stop!”

Steve reached out reflexively to stop Bucky, but the moment his hand closed around Bucky’s wrist, Bucky wrenched himself out of the chair away from Steve.

"Ne trogay menya!”

He was on his feet, chest heaving, eyes wild with fear. Peggy steeled herself with her hand on her tranquilizer gun, hating how familiar this scene was to her. Steve had his hands in the air, leaning away from Bucky in his chair.

“I’m sorry. Prosti,” Steve apologized. “Uh, Ya tebya ne tronu. I won’t touch you.”

“No, goddamnit,” Bucky growled in frustration and put both hands over his face. “I didn’t mean to- I just-”

He removed his hands and carefully retook his seat. He wouldn’t look at either of them.

“I fucking hate this.”

“I know,” Steve was trying to be reassuring. “Buck, I know.”

Bucky laughed his mirthless laugh.

“No, Steve, you really don’t. I should be able to control my own damn mind.”

His tone brought back a memory from Peggy’s childhood. Her maternal grandmother had struggled with Alzheimer’s for as long as Peggy could remember until she'd passed after Peggy had turned seven. Peggy had a vivid flash of Amanda Carter’s pained face when her own mother hadn’t recognized her, and then, a few minutes later, after Amanda had fled the room in tears and left a six-year-old Peggy in her wake, Peggy’s grandmother had become lucid for a moment. She’d lamented the deterioration of her mental health to Peggy, too young to understand but old enough to be afraid for her grandmother. Old enough to be afraid of losing her own mind.

“Given the circumstances, the amount of control you have is quite admirable.”

Bucky looked at her, expression slowly softening, and Peggy was glad that she’d found a way to encourage Bucky without him interpreting it as condescension.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said earnestly.

“Peggy,” she reminded him gently as her hand drifted from her gun to her lap.

“Right. Peggy,” Bucky corrected himself with a small shake of his head. “Peggy, and Steve.”

He looked to Steve, who was still leaning backward in his chair.

“Sorry, man,” Bucky reached out and briefly clapped Steve on the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Steve nodded at him. Peggy could tell that Steve was hurting, but there was relief in his face as well.

“You don’t have to,” Steve told Bucky, almost pleading as he brought the conversation back to where it had fallen apart. “You don’t have to let them torture you.”

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky’s mouth twitched. “I can’t do much, but I can do _that_ at least.”

“I won’t let them,” Steve growled, fire in his eyes. “I told you, I promised. I’m not gonna let _anyone_ lay another finger on you, no matter who they are or what they claim to represent.”

Bucky’s face reflected a mixture of annoyance and gratitude.

“You gonna fight _me,_ Steve?”

“If I have to.”

Steve’s words were hollow, dripping with wounded pride.

“Steve,” Peggy began before she knew how she was going to finish, trailing off when Steve didn’t acknowledge his name. She didn’t know how to fix this, and it scared her.

“It’s like Peggy said earlier,” Bucky’s words were gentle, cultivated from a lifetime of talking Steve Rogers down. “It’s my life. It’s my choice.”

Bucky didn’t know, he couldn’t know, how much significance those words held. He didn’t know, but they effectively diffused Steve’s wrath. His head hung and his shoulders slumped.

“You don’t have to,” Steve repeated helplessly to the floor. “Don’t. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Bucky put his right hand on Steve’s knee and squeezed reassuringly. Steve didn’t look at him, so Bucky addressed Peggy.

“Can you let them know? That I’m volunteering for this? I know they’ll come for me either way, but I just- I want them to know.”

Peggy could see how much he needed someone to acknowledge the meager control he had over the horrific circumstances he’d found himself in. She knew he’d been drafted into the War to begin with; registered, then gone when his number had come up. He couldn’t control any of that, but he could control how he responded to it. That was important to him, and it was so vastly unfair that HYDRA had taken even that away.

“I will,” she promised. “They’ll still come every Saturday as scheduled. I’m going to renegotiate some of the terms, but I will let Phillips, Howard, and Clivedon know you’re willing to cooperate.”

HYDRA had taken that away, but they wouldn’t again. Bucky was getting himself back, getting revenge on his tormentors the only way he now could. She was relieved, and guilty at her relief, that Bucky was cooperating. That he was taking the burden off of Steve and herself.

“Good,” Bucky nodded stiffly, relieved. “Thanks.”

“I can’t be here when they do it,” Steve looked up, voice surly. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

Peggy understood.

“I’ll take full responsibility for making certain they don’t cross any more lines. You can leave the apartment when they come.”

“It’s not so bad,” Bucky offered, trying and failing to bring levity to the situation. “I mean, HYDRA did way worse stuff to me. A little brain tickle is nothing.”

“I can’t do this,” Steve rose violently to his feet, his chair tottering dangerously behind him. He glared at Bucky. “I need a moment.”

He left the kitchen. Peggy desperately wanted to call out his name. She wanted to follow him, make everything better with her lips, skin pressed against his, but she knew Steve. Following him would only make it worse, he had to be alone for a while.

“God, me and my big mouth,” Bucky muttered after the door to the master bedroom had slammed shut. “I’ve been gone so long I don’t ever know what to say to him anymore.”

“It’s not just you,” she said distractedly, an attempt at reassurance. “We’re all lost here.”

She was still staring through the kitchen door when she heard the scrape of Bucky’s chair, and she whirled in her own chair, all her senses on alert. Bucky put his hands up appeasingly, making himself as non-threatening as he could where he stood.

“I’m not gonna try anything, I swear.”

“No, it’s not that,” Peggy lied shakily. “I know you won’t.”

“Maybe you should be a little more suspicious, ma’am,” he said in gruff warning. “You don’t really know me.”

He was right. She knew him through Steve, and through her own observations and inferences, but she’d held only scant conversations alone with him, and usually when he was in some degree of agitation. She wanted to know _him._

“Then sit down,” she admonished him with a hand waved at his vacated seat. “Talk with me. Let me know you.”

He stared at her for a moment, calculating, before sitting down in the chair across from her.

“Okay, we can talk. But only if you promise me one thing, ma’am.”

“Peggy,” she corrected him. “And what do you want me to promise you?”

“If you need to, shoot me,” he entreated solemnly. “Here, or sometime in the future. Tranq, bullet, doesn’t matter. Whatever you need to do to protect yourself.”

“Bucky- ”

“Steve doesn’t want to do anything to hurt me, no matter how bad I get. Don’t let him get anybody else killed for that.”

He was desperate that she agree, and she knew she should. He was right, Steve was too close to the situation, and she was the rational one, the reasonable one. She knew she should agree, but she didn’t want to.

“I promise.”

She hated how relieved he looked. He settled back in his chair.

“Good. What do you want to know?”

A thousand questions bottlenecked in her mouth. She swallowed, deciding to begin at the beginning. Where Bucky would hopefully feel the least distress.

“When did people start calling you ‘Bucky’?”

“Don’t remember exactly. I was real young, and it was Mom who started it.”

Peggy was pleased that she’d guessed correctly about that.

“There were about twenty boys called James on our street alone,” Bucky continued. “So she used my middle name to call me in for dinner. Just kinda stuck. Rikki, she chose her own nickname ‘cause she wanted to be like me. I was annoyed at the time, but it’s kinda flattering.”

He was starting to ramble, the memories pouring from his mind and out his mouth, and Peggy was happy to let them.

“George and Winnie named you after a president. Why?”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly.

“Distantly related on Mom’s side. He was a terrible President, but it’s a source of family pride. When did they start calling you ‘Peggy’?”

She was startled, but then she smiled because he wanted to give and take with her.

“Boarding school. I was eleven. My friend Millie started it, and I liked the way it sounded. Margaret always seemed so formal.”

She paused, remembering her reckless youth. Remembering Millie. She gave Bucky an appraising look as she decided whether or not to tell him more. He met her gaze, waiting politely for anything she might add to her story.

“Millie and I were very close until she transferred to another school.”

He made a noise of acknowledgment, and she decided that she would risk it. She had to know if she could trust him. She had to know.

“She was the first person I ever kissed.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and Peggy was afraid. She remembered what Steve had often asked, back when she’d first met him, small and gangly, hiding the constant pain his body had been wracked with. _“Is this a test?”_

_Yes, this is a test._

“We were far too young to call it love, I think,” Peggy continued with forced cheeriness. “But you never forget your first kiss, do you?”

His eyes returned to normal and he nodded, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Barbara Kowalski, behind her father’s diner. I was nine, she was ten. Neither of us understood why the older kids liked it so much, but we wanted to try it.”

Peggy laughed, relieved.

“I wonder what happened to her,” Bucky’s voice misted with nostalgia. “I never saw her again after we finished school. She was the smartest kid in school, but her father wanted her to work in his restaurant.”

There was a bitterness in his voice now, and Peggy tried to think of how to steer the conversation away.

“Steve’s told me about how tough it was when you were boys- ”

“She shoulda gone to a university,” Bucky interrupted, seeming not to hear her. “Me too, I guess, but no one could afford that. So I went to work full-time in the refinery, and Babs started waiting tables. Why’d you end up with Steve, if you, you know, like kissing women?”

His eyes were focused on her again, and she tried not to be nonplussed by the abrupt conversational detour.

“Some people like women _and_ men.”

“Huh,” he cocked his head, and Peggy thought she saw introspection. “Okay.”

“Some people like both,” she continued carefully, testing the waters. “Just as some people can love more than one person at the same time.”

His eyes became stormy. Fierce protection surged in her direction.

“I like you, Peggy. I like you a lot, but don’t you dare hurt him.”

She felt a thrill of fear, but this was a different fear than before. He was here now, in his right mind, and it was Steve who was grounding him, present or not, just as he’d grounded him earlier, in his bed, even after the stress of unexpected torture. Peggy’s fear now was that he’d misunderstood her, and her intentions, and she wanted him to think well of her. She needed him to.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” she assured him firmly. “I would never do anything to hurt Steve.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he relaxed slightly. “You’re a hell-of-a woman, and I’m glad you love him. Just remember- remember I- ”

Bucky trailed off, and she was finishing his sentence with what she’d seen in his eyes earlier.

“You loved him first.”

Confusion furrowed his brow and she saw more of that introspection.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I did.”

“Did?”

“I talk a big game, Peggy, but I don’t actually wanna break up your marriage.”

She laughed softly, wondering what to say to him without betraying Steve’s confidence.

“Some people can love more than one person at the same time,” she repeated meaningfully, trying to believe the words herself.

"Hmm," Bucky said, obviously unconvinced.

They were at the same place, Peggy realized. The same seemingly insurmountable impasse. She wanted to find the words to convince him to overcome it. Maybe then she'd find the same ability in herself.


	9. Ignition

* * *

Steve and Bucky had slept for most of the afternoon, so Peggy went to bed long before either of them. Sunday morning, Steve was stiff and distant to both Peggy and Bucky. He went to visit with George and Winnie a few hours after the Barneses got home from Mass. Neither Peggy or Steve told Bucky where Steve was going, but Peggy could tell that Bucky had it figured out by the irritated twitch of his mouth after the front door closed behind Steve.

Bucky disappeared into his room after that. Whenever Peggy passed by she was saddened not to see him reading, but sitting on his bed with his back to the door, his legs hanging over the other side. He was staring out the window, the thick glass warping the view of the alley. As far a she could tell, he sat there all day.

Steve came home late in the afternoon. He wasn’t as angry as he’d been when he’d left.

“They need to see him,” Steve kept his voice low, speaking in Peggy’s ear in the front hall where she’d greeted him. “Winnie’s beside herself, and George doesn’t know what to do. And, uh, Rikki- Rikki’s pregnant.”

“Oh,” Peggy tried to suss an appropriate response. She knew Rebecca and Jim wanted children, but this put a definitive timetable on their nuptials. “How long?”

“Just found out yesterday. She and Jim wanna get married in three months.”

Peggy closed her eyes briefly. It was unlikely Bucky would be cleared for travel in so short a time. She didn’t want to be the one to have to tell him, but she wouldn’t make Steve do it, either. Steve was struggling as it was, she didn’t want to add another burden.

“I’ll let him know.”

Peggy took a step backward and watched the relief flood Steve’s eyes.

“I should do it.”

He insisted anyway. Her stubborn, beautiful idealist.

“Together, then. At dinner?”

Steve nodded, then put a hand over his stomach and made an exaggerated grimace of pain.

“Don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat, Peg. Winnie fed me all afternoon. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

There was affection in his words for the woman who’d become his second mother. Peggy smiled, and kissed him softly on the lips.

“How is he?”

Steve had no sooner spoken the question then there was the sound of something heavy falling in Bucky’s room. Steve was running towards the sound, Peggy right behind him, her heart in her throat.

Bucky was frozen by his dresser, the stack of books all over the floor. The file that had been perched on top had fallen with them, opening and spilling its contents. Papers were spread across the room, along with pictures. Steve had rushed to Bucky’s side, but Peggy stopped in the doorless doorway, looking down at a grainy photograph on its threshold. It was Bucky, strapped naked to a gurney. He only had one arm, and there was a metal contraption on his head. A strange, sinister crown of wires. Bucky’s eyes in the picture were wide with fear and pain, his mouth opened in a scream. Peggy knelt and retrieved the picture, pressing it against her chest so she wouldn’t have to look at it any longer. She shuddered, remembering the S.H.I.E.L.D.-sanitized version of the same contraption that Dr. Clivedon had been using on Bucky yesterday in this very room.

“Bucky- ”

Steve began, visibly restraining himself from laying a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Eto ne moye imya,” Bucky muttered ominously. “That’s not my name.”

Peggy watched Bucky pick up a small photograph that had fallen on top of the dresser. She couldn’t see what it was from the door, but the way Steve’s face set in horror when he looked at it told her enough. Bucky’s face twisted with disgust.

“I don’t want that to be my name,” Bucky crumpled the picture in his gloved left hand. “I don’t want to be him.”

Peggy had been quietly collecting any of the papers she could reach, but she stood now and took a step forward.

“Okay,” Steve said calmly. He was getting better at this, which made Peggy proud and sad at the same time. “That’s okay. Uh, why don’t we just- ”

Bucky’s head snapped toward Steve. Peggy saw fear, anger, and shame in his eyes, and she was afraid.

“And where were you?”

He could have been talking about earlier in the day, but Peggy knew better. Her heart raced, and her tongue wouldn’t cooperate with her. Not that she knew what to say even if it would.

“What?”

Steve asked calmly, but there was a tremor in his voice.

“I waited for you to come for me,” Bucky explained, accusatory. “I waited and waited, but you never came. Where were you?”

“Bucky, I didn’t know,” Steve’s voice broke. “I swear, I didn’t know. I thought you were dead, and then I- ”

He cut himself off, but Peggy heard the confession bubbling to the surface and she froze with the horror of realization.

“Then you what? Crashed a plane you coulda landed and slept for a few years?”

Bucky sneered. He was trying to hurt, and he’d found a more effective way than fists or weapons. Peggy tried not to be angry with him as she watched Steve’s shoulders shake. She tried.

“I didn’t want to live without you.”

There had been so many empty bottles around Steve when she’d found him in the remains of that pub. Beer, wine, liquor. He’d kept going, kept trying for hours.

“I failed you. I failed everybody, and after Schmidt was gone, I- I didn’t see any reason to keep going.”

A tear slipped down Steve’s cheek, and Peggy saw Bucky’s eyes soften. Too late to quell her rage.

“That’s enough,” her voice was deadly calm.

There had been plenty of time to land that plane, but she’d chalked Steve’s decision up to his stubborn desire to do the right thing. Her beautiful idealist. She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself what it had really been.

Both men looked at her, sorrow and shame twisting their faces. Steve looked utterly defeated, his shoulders slumped, and she bit her lip to keep herself from lashing back at Bucky on Steve’s behalf.

“We’ll get this cleaned up, and then we’ll have dinner,” her voice remained even.

“I’ll do it,” Bucky muttered, unable to hold her gaze when she fixed her eyes on his. “And you can have my file back. I don’t want it.”

He knelt and began collecting books, separating them from the documents. Peggy looked at Steve. He wouldn’t hold her gaze either.

“Steve, will you get started on dinner?”

He nodded wordlessly and left the room. She wanted to follow him, comfort him, but she knew he wouldn’t let her.

“I didn’t want him to see,” Bucky spoke to the pile of papers. “I didn’t want him to see.”

He’d finished his sorting of anything he could reach, but he remained on the floor. He began to rock with agitation.

“Sergeant, 32557038,” Bucky began. “Sergeant, 32557038. Sergeant- ”

Peggy watched him carefully, anger receding. Slowly, she made her way across the room and knelt in front of him, adding the papers she’d gathered to the hated pile.

“Bucky.”

Bucky looked at her, shaking his head.

“Sergeant, 32557038.”

“Bucky,” she said again.

“I blame him,” Bucky stopped his refrain. “Why the fuck do I blame him? I know it’s not his fault, I made my own choice and I gotta live with that.”

“You need to tell him that.”

Fear flickered in his eyes.

“If he knew what I did, he’d hate me. You’d both hate me.”

He looked back at the papers. A chronicle of the last ten years of horror.

“I’ll burn it,” Peggy promised him. “There are copies at S.H.I.E.L.D., but I won’t read them.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t want me to.”

His eyes widened and she saw tears filling them, but he blinked them furiously away.

“And you’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, too, did you know that?”

“Yeah, they- they mentioned that. You did that?”

“Yes. Steve, too, when I thought he was gone. You both earned it.”

The beginning of a smile twitched Bucky’s lips upward.

“Whataya know? They were trying to make me a HYDRA agent, but I was S.H.I.E.L.D. all along.”

“That’s right,” Peggy encouraged, tamping down her misgivings about the blurring distinction between the two organizations. “You’re off active duty now, but you could be a full-fledged agent someday.”

She knew immediately she’d been trying too hard. Bucky’s smile faltered and he looked down at his knees.

“Not likely.”

“That’s up to you,” Peggy salvaged. “Now, I’ll get these to the fireplace, why don’t you get your books in order and we’ll see if Steve needs help in the kitchen?”

She gathered the papers from the pile and hunted down the remainders that had spread around the room. She turned over every horrid picture so she wouldn’t have to look. She watched Bucky out of the corner of her eye as she did so. He slowly rose to his feet with the books and replaced them on the dresser.

“That idiot,” he muttered loud enough that she could hear it. She didn’t need to ask to whom he was referring. “That fucking idiot.”

Peggy let the full impact of Steve’s confession wash over her, and she bit her lip to keep herself from screaming her rage. How could he have left her like that, on purpose?

_ He wouldn’t have left if Bucky had been there. _

That thought shouldn’t cause her jealousy. She wouldn’t let it.

“You need to talk to him,” Peggy said instead, and she realized that in her efforts not to place Steve between herself and Bucky, she’d let Steve and Bucky put  _ her _ in the middle.

Bucky grunted something that sounded like agreement and left for the kitchen. Peggy brought every piece of Bucky’s file into the sitting room and placed them around the wooden logs in the fireplace. She fumbled for the matches on the mantle. The papers went up in a bright blaze and left a vague chemical smell behind in their ashes. She strangled the fire before the logs burned completely and went to the kitchen.

Something that smelled like meatloaf was baking in the oven and the table was set for three. Those were the only details she managed to glean before her focus was eclipsed by Steve and Bucky beside the kitchen table. They were kissing. Bucky had his arms around Steve’s waist and Steve had his hands in Bucky’s hair as he pulled desperately at the back of Bucky’s head.

Something inside Peggy shattered. Conflicting emotions and reactions surged in her chest. She was fine with this, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t jealous, but she was. She couldn’t say who she was more jealous of, and that distressed her most of all.

“Peggy,” Steve saw her first and pulled away from Bucky. “Peggy, I- ”

She left. She couldn’t talk to him right now, and he of all people would certainly understand her need to be alone to process her thoughts. She was in the front hall before she realized she’d gotten there, pulling on her coat and gloves. She didn’t hear Steve behind her. She didn’t look. The door closed loudly behind her as she fled into the night.


	10. Confessions

* * *

It was dark for how early the night was. Clouds snarled overhead. Peggy walked the streets for over three hours, purposefully taking back alley shortcuts, wanting someone to start something with her. She’d been sidelined for a month, she needed the thrill of a fight, but no one gave her what she wanted before she arrived at her destination.

It was a place in Brooklyn that Peggy used to frequent often, back when she’d been with Angie. A place that often changed names as it kept up with potential police raids. Tonight, a crude sign proclaimed it  _ The Dove. _ The only way for someone to get inside was if the woman at the door knew them, or they were vouched for by another known patron.

It had been over seven years since she’d last been here. The woman at the door was unfamiliar to Peggy, and introducing herself and dropping Angie’s name got her nowhere. She was turning to go, resigning herself to settling for the first bar she could find in the area, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled, on edge.

“Peg?”

The woman smiled as she drew her hand back. Peggy recognized that smile.

“Sal?”

She hadn’t seen Sally in over seven years either. Sally had been Angie’s friend, as well as her occasional lover until Peggy had shown up. She was a tall, voluptuous woman with olive skin. Her dark hair was short, swept up under a cap. Her smile was captivating. It always had been.

“How’s Angie?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Sally shrugged, but there was a hint of pain in her voice. “C’mon, let’s go inside. It’s okay, Gina, I know her.”

The woman at the door nodded and let them pass through the curtain. Nothing had changed inside. It was a little more run down, a little grimier, but still the same place Peggy remembered. Tables and chairs, a bar, and a raised platform that served as a stage. No one was on stage now, but women sat at the tables drinking and their soft chatter, punctuated by bursts of raucous laughter, washed over Peggy comfortingly as she and Sally hung their coats on the hooks by the entrance. Sally left her cap on.

“Were you meeting someone here?” Peggy asked.

“I was hoping to,” Sally laughed and gestured to an empty table. “How about you? Haven’t seen you around these parts in a while. You still married to Captain America?”

Peggy thought of Steve, his boyish face grinning at her. His eyes filled with adoration. His lips on Bucky’s lips and his hands in Bucky’s hair, because he’d always loved Bucky more, she was a consolation prize-

“Yes,” she said stiffly as she sat across from Sally. “I am.”

Sally’s eyes widened at her tone. She was a few years younger than Peggy, if Peggy remembered correctly. She looked much younger than that.

“Okay, I gotcha,” she winked conspiratorially. “No one’s really married in this place.”

Peggy glanced around. All these women, only free in the dim light to be who they were. Tomorrow morning they’d wake up beside a husband, or a woman that would never be acknowledged as more than a friend and roommate. Some of them would have to put on men’s clothes and pretend that was who they were. It made her sad, and angry. It also made her afraid that she was just like them.

“What’s your drink?” Sally stood. Peggy tried not to let her eyes roam from Sally’s face. “It’s on me.”

Peggy wanted to insist that she get her own drink, or offer to get Sally’s drink, but she’d forgotten her handbag with her wallet.

“Sidecar,” Peggy said instead. “No sugar on the rim.”

She hadn’t had a sidecar in years, but she remembered that Angie had loved them. Angie had liked the sugar around the rim. She used to swipe the thin slice of orange adorning the glass around the sweet crystals and eat it, rind and all. Then she would kiss Peggy, and Peggy would taste citrus and sugar on her lips and tongue.

“No orange slice, either,” Peggy called after Sally. “Please.”

Sally returned with Peggy’s drink. The cocktail glass was smudged on the outside, and probably the inside as well. Peggy gulped the drink. Even without the sugar, it was too sweet.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Peggy told Sally as she settled across from her with a bottle of Ballantine. “Tell me about your life.”

Sally took a swig from the bottleneck. She hadn’t brought a separate glass back with her.

“Nothin’ to tell, Peg,” she shrugged. “Take whatever jobs I can find until I can’t stand ‘em anymore, then it’s on to the next one. How about you? Still a glamorous spy?”

Sally clearly didn’t want to talk about herself. Unfortunately, Peggy didn’t want to talk about herself, either.

“Yes,” she nodded, her fingers playing with the stem of her glass. “Not so glamourous though.”

Sally made a noncommittal noise of interest before taking a bigger swig. The green glass reflected one of the few lights into Peggy’s eyes and she had to look down at the table. The light was gleaming off the two gold rings on her left hand.

“That was always the thing about you, Peg,” Sally said after she’d swallowed. “Always so closed.”

_ “You never tell me anything, Peggy!” _

Peggy remembered the last fight she’d had with Angie, before Peggy had decided to take the position in L.A.

_ “I can’t tell you everything, Angie,” _ she’d explained as reasonably as she could.  _ “It’s a matter of security, you know that.” _

_ “No,” _ Angie had finished stuffing her clothes into her suitcase and glared up at Peggy, tears in her eyes.  _ “There are things you  _ **_can_ ** _ tell me, you just won’t. You won’t, and I can’t live like this anymore!” _

Angie had left that night, gone to Sally’s. Peggy had accepted the L.A. job the following morning, left for California the day after.

“We should go back to my place,” Sally was saying, leaning across the table and catching Peggy’s hand in her own. “We can both open up a little more.”

Peggy had known this was where the night was heading, even before Sally had offered to buy her drink. She’d known, and she’d allowed it, because she was tired of being reasonable. Her skin shivered. She loved the feeling of Sally’s calloused fingers on her hand. She thought about those fingers moving up her arm, unbuttoning her blouse-

“Sal, I- ”

This is what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Consent was on the edge of her tongue. She was married, but that hadn’t stopped Steve. It would serve him right, and she wouldn’t be cruel enough to do it somewhere Steve would find her. It would serve him right-

“I can’t,” Peggy pulled her hand away. “I have to get home.”

She wasn’t a child. She might not enjoy being reasonable, but it was part of who she was. It was what made her one of the best spies in S.H.I.E.L.D. She didn’t want to compromise that.

Sally nodded, disappointed. Peggy stood.

“Thank you for the drink, Sal. You’re welcome to stop by whenever you like. My apartment’s not cleared for visitors, but we could go out somewhere. To talk.”

“Not cleared for visitors, huh?” Sally laughed a little too quickly. “Jesus. Same old Peggy.”

Peggy smiled ruefully. She’d chosen this.

“Goodnight, Sally, and thank you again. Please do stop by.”

She went to get her coat. She knew it was unlikely she’d see Sally again. Peggy stepped into the night, wondering if she’d ever be able to apologize to Angie. That seemed unlikely, too.

It took Peggy longer to walk home, avoiding the shortcuts she’d used before.

*

The light was still on in the front hallway when Peggy opened the door, her heart pounding. She shed her coat and made her way into the apartment, choosing to look in the kitchen first. She wasn’t certain what she expected to find.

The room was in shambles. Silverware littered the floor. The table was overturned and three of the four wooden chairs were smashed to splinters. Pictures had been torn off the walls, and there was a gash in the wall by the door that looked as if a knife had been used on the wallpaper and plaster. The charred remains of the meatloaf sat on the stove. Peggy turned from the scene, already putting the pieces together in her mind. Who had been standing where. What Bucky had done. What Steve had been forced to do to stop him.

When Peggy reached the sitting room, Steve was there on the sofa. His clothes were disheveled, plaster dust on his hunched shoulders and in his hair. His face was in his hands, but his breathing was even. Peggy carefully made her way to the sofa and sat beside him. She left nearly twelve centimetres between them. He didn’t look up at her.

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s voice was muffled by his hands. “God, I ruined everything.”

“What happened?”

Peggy asked it steadily. She left the question open-ended. She wanted to see how Steve would answer. After a long moment, Steve let out a deep breath and slowly pulled his fingers from his face.

“I’d just put the meat in the oven when Bucky came into the kitchen,” Steve spoke as if he was giving a mission report. “He said he needed to talk to me. He said you told him he needed to talk to me.”

Peggy nodded, even though Steve wasn’t looking at her. He stared across the sitting room at the opposite wall.

“We’re not- ” Steve faltered for the first time in his recounting. “We’ve never been, uh, real good at talking.”

“There’s an understatement.”

It slipped out before Peggy could stop it. It was hypocritical of her, she knew. Sharing information and talking about her feelings had never been strengths for her either.

“He asked me if I loved him,” Steve brushed passed her snipe. “It caught me off guard and I- I told him I did, and he- Peg, he said he loved me, too. He said he’d always loved me.”

There was wonder in Steve’s voice, and in his eyes when he turned them to her.

“I know I shouldn’t have, Peg, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. In that moment, it was- it was like I was sixteen again and I was standing in his shadow, knowing he’d never love me the way I loved him, but he  _ did. _ He did, and he still does.”

“You kissed him,” Peggy didn’t say it as an accusation.

“I think I started it, yeah,” Steve looked down at his lap in shame. “I stepped forward, and he stepped forward, and then- ”

“Then I came in.”

Steve’s hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles white. He looked back at Peggy.

“It was wrong. It won’t happen again.”

She studied his face, so earnest and so ashamed of himself. She knew that he meant it. That would only make it harder later.

“If he hadn’t been presumed dead, would you have married me?”

She didn’t have time to sugarcoat the question. She needed to know. Steve opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Fear flashed in his eyes. Anger and pain pricked behind Peggy’s.

“I love you, Peggy,” Steve said softly. “I do.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes,” Steve said firmly, his shoulders straightening, eyes flashing with doubtless conviction in a way she hadn’t seen in over a month. “I would have married you. I love you, and I chose you, and I’m gonna honor that.”

A tear slipped down Peggy’s cheek and she hastily blinked away the remainder of the water in her eyes.

“When you left, I wanted to go after you. I would have, but I couldn’t leave.”

“I know,” Peggy sighed. “I shouldn’t have trapped you like that. I just needed to clear my head.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Peg.”

Peggy nodded, unconvinced.

“After you left,” Steve continued. “Bucky- he just- he lost it. He was yelling at me, saying that I was an idiot for kissing him when I had someone like you in my life. Yelling at me for putting him in the middle. Nothing I didn’t deserve. Nothing that wasn’t true.”

Peggy felt as if she was in the middle of Steve and Bucky, and Bucky felt as if he was in the middle of her and Steve, but Steve was also in the middle of her and Bucky. They were in a circle. A ring.

“Then he got confused. Started screaming in Russian that I was using him, that he didn’t want it, that he never wanted it even when they told him he did.”

Steve’s voice broke. Peggy shifted closer to him on the sofa, pressing into his right side. He was firm and warm against her, and she kissed his shoulder as she took his arm in hers.

“He was looking right at me, like he didn’t know it was me, Peg. He kept screaming at me,  _ ‘Stop looking like him!’ _ And then he grabbed a knife and came at me, and I didn’t want to fight him. I didn’t want to hurt him. But he wouldn’t stop.”

“Are you hurt, Steve? Is he?”

“I had to choke him. I had to hold my arm across his throat until he stopped moving,” Steve’s voice broke again. “I carried him to bed and strapped him down.”

“There wasn’t anything else you could have done.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed bitterly. “I could have  _ not _ kissed him. I could have respected you, and my marriage vows, and his situation. I could have- ”

“Steve.”

He stopped. His shoulders quivered.

“I think I’m falling in love with him, too,” Peggy admitted quietly. “I don’t know what that means.”

She wasn’t going to make the mistakes she’d made with Angie. With every relationship she’d ever had. She was going to let Steve in.

“Really?”

Hope and confusion warred in Steve’s question.

“He’s a good man. How could he not be, the way you believe in him?”

“I don’t want you to think you have to do anything, Peg. Just because I- ”

“Steve, when have I ever let you pressure me into something I didn’t want to do myself?”

He laughed, relieved but still doubtful.

“I almost- ” Peggy admitted. “I went somewhere. Thinking about being with someone else.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“That’s only fair. Who?”

“I didn’t have anyone in particular in mind, but I ran into a woman I knew from a long time ago. Her name’s Sally. But I didn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“You’re better than me.”

“That’s not true.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Then they kissed, passionate and desperate. Steve buried his hands in Peggy’s hair, the same way he’d done with Bucky. She tried to be honored by that.

“Come to bed with me,” Peggy asked when they broke apart for air. “Please?”

Steve nodded, eyes wild. He stood and offered his hand to her. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet and swing her around into another brief kiss. It was as close as they’d get to traditional dancing.

They made love in their bed. As she reached completion, Peggy imagined what it would be like with Bucky in the bed with them. It didn’t feel wrong.


	11. Fragility

* * *

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

It was the first thing Bucky said to Peggy when he saw her the following morning, looking her straight in the eyes with hunched shoulders. Steve had unstrapped him and she’d heard them talking in Bucky’s room for a few minutes before they came out into the hallway where she was waiting.

“Peggy,” she corrected him pleasantly. “And it’s forgiven.”

His eyes narrowed and he canted his head to the side.

“You- you don’t want me out of your home? After that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if I could blame you for wanting to kiss Steve.”

Steve grinned at her. Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Steve then looked back at Peggy. His mouth was fighting a smile.

“Well, now you’re gonna go and give him an even bigger head.”

“Hey!”

Peggy and Bucky ignored Steve’s playful protest.

“Steve said, uh,” Bucky continued as if he couldn’t believe the words he was saying. “He said that you’re okay. With us.”

He reached his gloved left hand behind him and brushed Steve’s forearm.

“I am,” Peggy confirmed. “It’s not going to be easy, especially given our living situation, but you love him. He loves you. I love him, and he loves me. And I- ”

She stopped herself. She wasn’t ready to tell Bucky. She’d already taken the steps she was comfortable with for today.

“And I don’t know how it’s going to work exactly,” she finished instead. “But I’m okay with it.”

She saw something in his eyes, a flash of knowledge, as if he knew what she’d prevented herself from admitting.

“You really are a hell-of-a-woman,” Bucky said, awed and grateful. “It kinda feels like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“You’re not,” Peggy said sharply. “You think I’d let anyone- any _man-_ take advantage of me?”

“Quit while you’re ahead, Buck,” Steve advised.

“Not that you need to worry,” Bucky’s face fell. “I’m not up for much these days.”

“Well, whatever you are up for,” Peggy tried to steer Bucky away from a breakdown. “You have my stamp of approval.”

He thanked her with that same awed gratitude and went to the bathroom to prepare for the day. Peggy kissed Steve on the cheek and went to call a S.H.I.E.L.D. clean-up team. She tried not to speculate if any of the agents on that team were HYDRA.

A few hours later, the kitchen was pristine and there was a new door for Bucky’s room. Steve, Peggy, and Bucky had all helped with the rebuilding, and they sat on plastic sheets in the sitting room for a few minutes after the last of the other agents had left, eating hastily made sandwiches for a late lunch. All three of them were covered in plaster dust.

Peggy went to bathe first, standing under the showerhead to rinse the dust away. When she came back to the sitting room, dressed in slacks and a casual shirt, she found Steve and Bucky holding each other on the sofa. They weren’t kissing or groping, just sitting side-by-side with their arms around each other, but they sprang apart guiltily when Peggy entered the room.

“None of that,” she admonished them, trying not to be jealous. “Remember?”

They nodded sheepishly at her. Bucky went to bathe after that, leaving Steve sitting on the sofa with Peggy in the chair across from him. She wanted to sit by him, as close as Bucky had been, but she didn’t want to undo the work she’d done in the shower.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

Steve asked. Peggy took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes. How are _you_ doing with it?”

“What do you mean?”

He was completely baffled.

“I mean, it’s a difficult situation. He’s still very, er, _fragile.”_

“Please don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Of course not,” Peggy said, annoyed Steve would think he needed to remind her. “But he is. We still have to tell him about Rebecca and Jim, too.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. “Try again for dinner tonight?”

Peggy agreed. Bucky came back to the room a moment later, hair slicked back, and Steve left to clean up. Bucky helped Peggy remove the dirty plastic sheeting from the sofa. She thanked him when they were done.

“You’re welcome,” he sounded surprised by her gratitude. “Gotta do _something_ to pull my weight around here. Even if that’s cleaning up the messes I make myself.”

“It’s barely been a week since you came here, Bucky,” she reminded him kindly. “You’ve only been back from- from where you were for less than a month. You are doing remarkably.”

“Sure,” he sat heavily on the sofa. “Great.”

She ignored the self-loathing in his voice. She handed him the square _Lazy Bones_ remote instead. Theirs was a wireless contraption, courtesy of Howard Stark. Bucky looked at it, then at her as she sat on the other side of the sofa.

“I know you’re more of a reader,” Peggy acknowledged. “But shall we see what’s on?”

He turned the television on with the click of a button. An episode of _The Adventures of Superman_ flickered on, the titular character flying through the air in black-and-white. He had a little girl in his arms. Bucky didn’t put the remote down, but he didn’t try any of the other channels either. He watched with a grim concentration as the scene shifted to Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen investigating something.

“Did they ever make another show about Steve?”

Peggy remembered the _Captain America_ show, during the War. It had ended when Steve had joined the real fighting.

“No,” she laughed. “They should.”

“Huh,” Bucky considered. “Long as they get the right person for me. Is Humphrey Bogart still doin’ pictures?”

“That’s a bit ambitious,” Peggy teased gently. “Besides, you’ve aged better than him.”

“‘Course I have.”

Bucky smirked and settled back on the sofa. Peggy liked hearing the confidence in his voice. She decided not to bring up the _Captain America_ comics that had de-aged Bucky into a teenage sidekick. They watched the television in silence until Steve came back.

“Superman, huh?” Steve laughed, standing over them, smelling alluringly fresh. “Traitors.”

“Here,” Bucky handed him the _Lazy Bones._ “You choose, doesn’t matter to me.”

Steve turned the television off and placed the remote on top of the set. He went to the radio and switched it on. Miles Davis floated through the room as Steve returned to sit in the middle of the sofa. Peggy shifted, pressing herself against Steve’s left side. Steve put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“What do you boys want for dinner?”

Peggy looked over at Bucky with the question. He was watching them from his side of the sofa.

“Not meatloaf,” Steve offered. “There’s chicken in the freezer.”

“Chicken croquettes?” Peggy offered. “I think I have some asparagus as well.”

“Sounds perfect,” Steve kissed her again.

Bucky grunted what sounded like agreement.

“Buck?”

Steve looked at Bucky, offering his right arm. Bucky looked at it, then at Steve, and finally at Peggy.

“It still feels _wrong,”_ he said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

Peggy understood Bucky’s sentiment completely. Steve retracted his arm.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Bucky nodded.

“Just, stay there. Both of you.”

He moved across the cushions until he was against Steve’s right side. The left sleeve of his sweater had ridden up from the glove, and silver gleamed in the space between. Peggy wondered if it was uncomfortable for Steve, having Bucky’s metal arm pressed into him. If it was, Steve made no indication.

“Can I put my arm around you?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered after a pause. “Okay.”

Steve did. Peggy saw Bucky tremble slightly. She kissed Steve’s shoulder, and he kissed her forehead. He squeezed both Peggy and Bucky gently closer to him.

“My best gal _and_ my best guy,” Steve said in wonder, closing his eyes. “I’m the luckiest fella in the world.”

The way he swelled with joy reminded Peggy why she wanted to do this. She glanced over at Bucky. He was looking at Steve with the same fierce love she felt burning in her heart, and she loved Bucky for it. He caught her looking out of the corner of his eye and smiled softly.

_My beautiful boys._

It was good now, in this moment. Peggy tried not to think about how it would inevitably go bad again.


	12. Fragility (Continued)

* * *

At dinner, Peggy was proud of herself for not burning the chicken, and for only slightly over-steaming the asparagus. They told Bucky about Rebecca’s pregnancy after the meal. Bucky’s eyes lit up briefly at the news, then glazed as the implications registered. He looked down at the table. Peggy’s skin shivered in warning. Fear had chased away their joyful respite, as she’d known it would.

“You’ll have to give them my best,” he told the crumbs on his plate with quiet anger. “Or will you two even be able to go?”

“One of us will, yes,” Peggy assured him. “I think Steve.”

She looked across the table at Steve. He was watching Bucky’s reaction, pain on his face, but he looked at Peggy and nodded. Steve knew Rikki and Jim better, and had for longer, than Peggy.

“So you’ll be stuck babysitting me,” Bucky raised stormy eyes to Peggy.

“None of that,” she chided sadly, but that made it worse.

“Why not?”

Bucky’s rage crested. He noticed his left sleeve had ridden up and he yanked savagely on the cuff. Fabric ripped.

“Fuck!”

Bucky’s left arm was bared from the elbow down. He froze, staring in horror at the metal plates as if he was seeing them for the first time.

“Why do you always do that?”

Bucky looked at her, his head tilting slightly. Peggy was surprised at her daring, but she didn’t look away, not even when Steve exhaled sharply. She needed Bucky to focus. To come back from wherever he was drifting.

“Do what, ma’am?”

“Hide your left arm,” Peggy ignored Bucky’s formality and all its worrisome implications. “You’ve done it ever since you came here.”

“They gave it to me as a reward,” Bucky said distantly, gaze dulling where it continued to rest on Peggy’s face. “They told me I’d  _ earned _ it. It was difficult, doing everything one-handed, and I got used to it after awhile, but I wanted to see- I wanted to remember what it was like to have two arms again.”

“That’s understandable,” Peggy encouraged gently, wondering if this was helping Bucky at all. She hoped it was.

“No, it’s not,” he sneered at her, but his anger didn’t settle on Peggy herself. “It’s not understandable.”

Steve looked like he wanted to say something. His mouth twitched, but he seemed to think better of it at the last second and remained silent.

“I killed her for it,” Bucky said desperately, eyes focusing on Peggy’s once more. “It wasn’t fucking understandable. She had eyes like yours, and she was begging me not to, and I wrapped my hand around her throat and squeezed the life out of her because I wanted this.”

Bucky’s left hand balled into a fist with a mechanical hum and the squeak of leather. All three of them looked at it. Peggy felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t bear to look at Steve.

“I should rip it off, but I’m weak. They fused it to my nerve-endings. All the way down my spine. It hurt so fucking bad going in, and I know it’ll hurt the same if I rip it off like I should.”

He laughed spitefully, staring at the gloved hand.

“Not that I don’t deserve that.”

“Bucky.”

Both Peggy and Bucky swiveled their attention to Steve, whose mouth snapped closed.

“Don’t,” Bucky glowered murderously. “I don’t want it. Not from you.”

“You’re not weak,” Peggy heard the words spilling from her mouth, and she was equal parts angry at herself and at Bucky as she directed his ire away from her husband. “Goddamn it you idiot, you’re not!”

“I don’t want it from you, either.”

Her pulse was racing as she stood. He was so volatile, so dangerous, but she wasn’t going to let him break Steve’s heart any further. Steve’s, or her own.

“Well, you’re going to hear it. You’re going to shut your mouth and listen to me, Bucky Barnes!”

He was glaring up at her with a stubborn defiance to rival Steve’s, but he didn’t say anything more. Steve was staring at her, both reverent and horrified.

“Five years,” Peggy gulped, afraid of triggering something in him, but unable to stop now. “I found out from Phillips that you held out for five years, and do you have any idea how strong that makes you? Do you?”

His gaze dropped, hair falling over his ears.

“I didn’t have a real good grasp of time in there,” he muttered. “Doesn’t make any damn difference. I broke eventually, so what did those other years matter?”

“They matter, because that’s a part of who you are,” Peggy wanted to shake him, to make him  _ see. _ “You’re strong, and you’re  _ good.” _

“I’m not,” he growled stubbornly. “I’m not, and you shouldn’t love me. Either of you.”

She didn’t deny that she loved him. He was shrewd, and she didn’t have the capacity to construct a believable lie at the moment. So much for the great Agent Carter, she thought disparagingly.

“Did you hear that?” Bucky focused on Steve. “I killed an innocent woman, and that wasn’t the worst thing I did for them. I killed others. I told secrets. I said  _ ‘Hail, HYDRA’ _ when they wanted.”

Steve was silent, his face twisted with suppressed anguish. Peggy was terrified that she was going to lose him. She was going to lose them both.

“Do you understand what I’ve done? What I am?”

Bucky was shouting his desperation at Steve.

“You should kick me outta your home! You should hate me! You shouldn’t be fucking up your marriage by trying to touch me, you should  _ hate  _ me!”

He stopped abruptly, curling in on himself in his chair. He pulled his feet onto the seat and wrapped his head in his arms.

“YA bespoleznaya shlyukha,” he muttered to himself. “You shouldn’t love me.”

“Ty ne, Bucky. You’re not.”

Steve was on his feet, his face set with determination. Bucky didn’t look up at him, but he trembled at the authority in Steve’s voice. Peggy did, too.

“You’re not useless, and you’re not- you’re not any of those names they called you.”

“I am.”

“No,” Steve was deathly calm as he made his way around to Bucky’s side of the table and crouched by his chair. “You’re not.”

Bucky looked down at Steve from between his arms. His eyes were calmer, and Peggy felt a thrill of hope.

“You think I didn’t know all that?” Steve continued hotly. “Sure, not the specifics, but I’m not stupid. People think I’m some sort of  naïve idiot, but I thought you knew better.”

“Steve- ” Bucky began, and Peggy knew he was coming back.

“They had you for ten years, Buck. All that time, they were trying to make you into someone else. Of course they made you do things.”

“You don’t understand- ” Bucky tried again.

“I understand plenty,” Steve interrupted. “I understand that there’s evil. I understand that there’s good. Evil got its hands on you, but you got away. You got away, and you’re still good. Why the hell wouldn’t I still love you?”

Bucky gaped at him.

“Why wouldn’t I love you  _ more?” _

“Because I’m a traitor,” Bucky spat, plunging ahead before Steve could interrupt him again. “And a murderer. They used me, and I let them. I let them touch me. I traded my body so they’d leave me alone.”

He glanced guiltily at Peggy. She schooled her features in support.

“There is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you,” Steve promised him solemnly. “Nothing.”

Peggy watched defiance cross Bucky’s face. She knew he was concocting scenarios to test Steve, or maybe dredging up painful memories that contained more horrors HYDRA had forced him to perform. She watched his mouth open to divulge them and there was nothing she could do to stop him-

No words passed through Bucky’s lips. He exhaled, and Peggy watched him surrender.

“You still want me here, too?”

Bucky asked Peggy. She answered without hesitation.

“Always.”

“Fuck,” Bucky looked down at his feet on the chair. “I don’t understand you two at all.”

Steve looked up at Peggy with shining eyes. She smiled sadly back at him. One more episode successfully diverted from violence.

“I’ll wash up,” Bucky declared, springing to his feet. “And then, can I get one of you to help me with the scissors?”

“Scissors?”

Steve stood with his question.

“Yeah, I’m not allowed to handle sharp objects, remember?”

“Why do you need scissors, Bucky?”

Peggy asked for clarification, but she already suspected the answer.

“I wanna cut my hair,” Bucky’s tone dared them to question or object. “It’s annoying me.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed easily. “I’ll give you a trim.”

The mood had shifted again. Peggy tried to let her emotions follow. The whole situation was like cleaning a wound. The more dirt and infection that was cleared out meant more that could be uncovered. It meant more pain, but it was necessary for healing. It wasn’t just Bucky who was healing, either, although his wound was greater. They were all healing. Knitting their flesh back together millimetre by excruciating millimetre.

Bucky cleared the table and insisted on washing and drying alone. He and Steve disappeared into the bathroom for almost an hour while Peggy read in the sitting room. When Bucky entered with Steve on his heels, Peggy assessed his haircut. The curtains had lifted from his face. His hair was similar to how he’d worn it when she’d met him in 1943. Short, but not-clean cut, with a little more on the top. It made him look even younger.

“Very nice,” she praised both of them, and they glowed.

“I wanna see,” Bucky said quietly, appealing to her. “Just a look. I’ll try not to break anything.”

Peggy stood, thinking. There was only one mirror left in the apartment.

“All right,” she agreed. “Come with me.”

She led the way to the master bedroom. She went inside first, heart pounding as she rethought her decision. Seeing his reflection might upset Bucky more than denying his request, but she’d already committed. She turned on the lights, revealing her reflection in the vanity, Bucky’s face over her shoulder. She watched his eyes narrow, and her hand drifted to her tranquilizer gun. In the reflection, Steve watched warily from the doorway.

“Bucky?”

Bucky moved around Peggy, and her reflexes made her jump aside, but she resisted her instinct to draw her gun. She tried not to be afraid. She’d try not to be angry, when he broke her last mirror.

“What, Steve?”

Bucky responded, distracted as he stood in front of the vanity, watching himself in the mirror. He ran his right hand back through his hair. He hadn’t changed out of his ripped sweater, and the plates of his left forearm rippled and hummed when he brought his gloved hand up to touch his face. He traced the bridge of his nose and cupped his left cheek. He stared at himself for several minutes while Peggy and Steve observed him, tense and hopeful.

“I look pretty good,” Bucky turned from the mirror, bringing his hand from his cheek with an embarrassed half-smile. “You didn’t mess up my hair too bad, Stevie.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Steve beamed with relief. “You jerk.”

“Thank you,” Bucky turned to Peggy. “For risking it.”

He inclined his head at the mirror. He looked as relieved as she was. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair was mussed. His lips were plump, and she watched his tongue slide over them, wetting them. Giddy with relief, she didn’t stop her mind from wandering.


End file.
